Killer Instinct
by FR
Summary: A mysterious and creepy weasel, a naive young squirrel, a cynical otter veteran: three unlikely heroes, who are chosen by fate to oppose the ancient scourge of the Northlands. Restructured and reuploaded. Rating is mostly for violence. Please R&R!
1. A hungry traveler

A few clarifications about my vision of the Redwall world:

1) A season in this story is just that – a season of the year. When comparing age of most characters with human lifespan, equate two seasons to one year – yes, most beasts do not live for very long. On the positive side, they also grow up faster – at the age of ten to twelve seasons, a beast already can be considered mature in body, if not in mind.

2) Average beast is two and a half times shorter, than your average human. Fish, plants, insects and large birds approximately are of their normal size. Small birds (sparrows, crows and the like), are significantly larger, than they are in the real life.

Author's note:

This story contains extreme violence, torture, bad language, and other mature content. You are warned.

Redwall is © Brian Jacques, blah, blah, blah…

1. The hungry traveler.

The spring has come to the Northlands. The snow still laid in deep hollows and dark corners of a boundless forest, but on sunny glades the ground already was dry. Green sprouts were breaking through withered remains of a last year's grass, and buds were swelling everywhere on trees and bushes. Among branches of trees, birds cheerfully sang their songs. Someone down below did not share their merriment. Hungry eyes of the large young weasel followed flock of sparrows, whirling at inaccessible height. Suddenly the verminbeast shook his head sharply and lowered his gaze. Rumbling in an empty stomach did not stop from it, however. With a sigh, he stretched a paw to break one of buds from a low-hanging branch, put it into his toothy mouth, chewed for some time and then spat with disgust. Thin and lithe built was inherent to nearly all weasels, but this one looked not simply thin, but emaciated. Even the healthy shine of his hide seemingly faded - instead of normal light brown color it was mottled gray-brown. From clothes on the youngbeast were only a waistcoat and a short trousers, mottled grey, to match his natural coloration - and obviously, they weren't enough in the cold northern spring. Not for the starving vagrant, at least. In his sinewy paw the weasel carried a wooden walking stick, with pointed lower end, and on his belt hung a long straight dagger with the bone handle. Almost completely empty haversack was stuffed behind his belt.

Suddenly, sensitive ears of the weasel caught sounds other than those of a wind, blowing through tree boughs and birds' chirping - sounds of clumsy steps and haggard voice. For a hungry and half-frozen beast, he reacted marvelously quickly, jumping away from open space and instantly disappearing amid roots of a tree - his fur and clothing blended with their surroundings almost perfectly. A few minutes later, a beast, whose approach the weasel had heard, appeared from behind of a nearby hillock. The elderly mouse was barely able to hobble forward, regularly stopping to take a rest. His unsteady steps, dirty, torn clothes, face, covered with dried blood, and continuous groans evidenced, that very recently he ran into someone, who was callous enough to beat the old beast, and beat hard. After walking for a little, the mouse sat on a wood root for another short rest. With a moan of pain, the hapless beast bent to look closely at his bruised footpaws, and when he straightened again, directly before him stand the weasel, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

"A-a-aahhh!" at a sight of the armed vermin, the mouse instinctively recoiled, trying to rise and run away, but his sore footpaws failed him and he fell on his back.

"Silence!" the words were supported with a menacing wave of the wooden stick, whose sharp point now was aimed directly at the mouse's throat. The elderbeast, who already drawn in air for a shout, immediately slammed his mouth shut, and cringed on the ground, cowering his head.

"No, please, I have nothing, please, don't kill me, I..."

"Be silent, I said," the weasel lowered his weapon. "If I wanted to kill you, I would have slit your throat seven times already."

The mouse immediately ceased his pleas. The unfortunate beast visibly shivered with fear

"It looks like somebeast already robbed you."

The old beast cautiously looked at the vermin.

"He j-just took their tribute... Yes, tribute..."

"Who did it?" angrily snarled the weasel.

The frightened mouse shuddered again upon hearing the harsh voice, but still hesitated for the some time before answering.

"The fox... It was of the foxes. From yours... From ban... From beasts of Delgor the Scarlet. He left me only clothes on my back, you can see it for yourself. I have nothing more to take!"

"And how long ago it happened?"

"At noon... Yes, at noon, or slightly later..."

"At noon, eh? That's only hour or two back," with these words the weasel thrust his stick into ground and bowed to the mouse. The old beast closed his eyes in fear, but expected blows and pain didn't come. Instead, he suddenly felt himself lifted from the ground by the strong paws and leaned against a tree trunk.

"Stop shivering," the voice of the vermin sounded as if he was displeased by obvious fear of the old woodlander. "Better say, who is this Delgor."

The mouse clasped himself with the both paws, trying to calm down, and cautiously opened his eyes.

"He is a robb... er, a fox, you know. The big fox. Beasts say he's called the Scarlet because of his fur. There are a few other foxes with him - they came to our country last winter..."

"Interesting," - the weasel turned his back on the mouse, picked up his stick and looked down. The beaten up mouse left a clearly visible trail behind himself, which indicated a direction better, than any words. Smiling, the youngbeast started to walk along it.

"Wait!" suddenly exclaimed the old beast, surprised by his own words.

"What?" the vermin stopped for a second and turned his head.

"If you aren't from Delgor's band, it is dangerous to you to go there. They will rob anyone, woodlander or vermi..., er, or not woodlander."

"Hm," - the weasel shrugged, turned away and moved further. "We shall see."

"But they are dangerou..."

"I'm dangerous as well," retorted the annoyed youngbeast, without looking back. "And I'm not a coward that trembles before every lowly brigand in the Northlands. I'm Aulbek, Aulbek Ta...".

He cut short his phrase in a middle of a word.

"Never mind. Who I am is irrelevant for you anyway."

And after saying so, he hurried forward alongside of the fresh trail.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

This day developed wonderfully for Coalpaw. Like many vermin thieves and raiders, the old fox wasn't too lucky in life, as his scrawny body and thin, flea-infested fur evidenced - until Delgor accepted the seasoned but unlucky robber in his small band. The Scarlet Fox traveled across half of the Northlands in a company of vermin mercenaries, before he decided to seek his own fortune, and knew, where to find easy prey and rich plunder for himself and his followers. Life was good, and loot was plentiful ever since Coalpaw joined him. Today, for example, the black-pawed fox managed to catch the elderly mouse, who set out to visit his relatives with the whole bag of gifts and tasty foods. As usual, in this quiet and little-known to outsiders part of the Northlands, bullying the unarmed woodlander into submission was incredibly easy - a few threats, complemented with brandishing an axe, and he prostrated himself before the robber, pitifully pleading to spare him. Coalpaw truly enjoyed this sight, so for some time, he kicked the helpless mouse, just to hear more screams. Fortunately for the victim, the fox was hungry and tired, so he let the mouse go after only a short beating and started building a fire - the dinner seemed more attractive at the moment, than humiliating of the weaker beast. In his opinion, most of the freshly plundered food was too good to divide with companions. Therefore the bandit scoffed greedily, until his belly was ready to burst. Of course, after consuming such copious snack, he felt no desire to move anywhere. In fact, now, when Coalpaw was sated, weary and warmed by the bonfire, he wanted to sleep. The fox rested himself against a tree roots and stretched his footpaws to the dying fire. Perspective of revenge from the woodlanders didn't bothered him one bit - through entire last winter, weak mice, stumbling hedgehogs and timid rabbits, who lived in these parts of the forest, never mustered sufficient courage to actually fight Delgor and his vermin. Coalpaw was nearly asleep, when his ears caught the quiet sounds of approaching footsteps. Though barely audible, this noise instantly awakened the experienced fox. He sat up sharply, and opened his eyes, just in time to see Aulbek, walking to him at a leisurely pace.

"And who ya are?" growled Coalpaw menacingly. His paw darted to the long handle of the battleaxe, lying beside him. The robber lived to his age, because during his long and miserable dibbunhood he learned to always expect the worst from unfamiliar vermin. Or from familiar vermin, for that matter...

"Are you blind? I'm a weasel, moron," voice of the approaching beast was dry as a bone, picked clean ten seasons ago.

Coalpaw felt a cold sting of fear. Unlike peaceful wood inhabitants, which he used to intimidate, this weasel was armed and looked confidently, despite his youth.

"Not funny, wormspine! Let's see, if ya like my joke!" the bandit grabbed his weapon and tried to jump to his footpaws. But his stuffed stomach slowed him down. Coalpaw barely started moving, when Aulbek jumped forward, traversing remaining distance between them in a blink of an eye. Weasel's sturdy walking stick hit the black wrist so hard, that the fox's fingers unclasped and his axe fell back to the ground. Before Coalpaw had time to scream from a sudden pain, Aulbek struck him again, this time aiming for the head. The unlucky robber slumped down, knocked out instantly.

"What joke, old bastard?" the weasel smiled humorlessly. The unconscious fox remained silent. Aulbek's second blow left a deep graze, and blood already started to soak the dirty red fur on his head, but the skull seemed intact. The weasel twirled his polished stick, pointing its sharp end at the throat of the injured beast, and swung, still half-smiling. But the killing blow stopped half-inch short of fox's skin.

"Damn it," strangely, now Aulbek's voice was tinted with anger. "Consider yourself lucky this time, wretch. But I hope somebody will flay your worthless hide very soon."

The weasel resisted the temptation for a second, then gave in, viciously kicking the unmoving body two or three times, and turned to collect his trophies. To his satisfaction, Coalpaw still had enough stolen food to stretch for a few days. Chewing a scone on the move, Aulbek quickly crammed everything edible in his haversack. After a little thought, he also shoved there a knife, taken from Coalpaw's belt. Certainly, this rusty strip of iron did not go in any comparison with his own razor-sharp dagger, but it was more fitting for mundane tasks. The fox's axe seemed too heavy and unwieldy, so the weasel thrown it into the dying bonfire. Then he picked up his stick and walked away, without looking back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So, this terrible weasel, who beaten ye nearly t' death was all alone?" - the voice of Delgor the Scarlet was thoughtful and caring, but Coalpaw shuddered visibly, maybe from the gut-wrenching sounds made by a whetstone, on which the large fox was sharpening an edge of his broadsword, maybe because he sensed thin-veiled fury behind the calm facade of his chieftain.

"Errr... yeah," mumbled he almost incomprehensibly.

"And armed with a simple stick?" inquired Delgor.

"T' was a whole quarterstaff," quickly answered Coalpaw. "Look, how he mauled poor me with... aaaghhhh!"

A powerful throw of the heavy whetstone sent the hapless bandit sprawling.

"I wouldn't refuse to know, why he hadn't nailed ye right there and then?" pondered the robber chieftain absently, examining his newly-honed blade. "Probably, didn't want to smear his fur with yer stinkin' blood."

Coalpaw writhed in the dirt holding nearly-smashed snout with both paws and trying to hold groans of pain. He was lucky, that whetstone didn't break his jaws, but the stronger fox could quickly correct this, if provoked by the further demonstration of weakness. But Delgor only sighed after looking at the pathetic sight, and stood up from tree stump, on which he sat. Unlike his lean, bony henchbeasts, the vividly red fox wasn't only tall, but also strongly built, with bulging muscles, thick paws and magnificent glossy fur - obviously, if he ever suffered from malnutrition, that was a long time ago. Iron chainmail, covering his torso, and good long broadsword provided an additional advantage over poorly armed average vermin. Five foxes, of which his small band consisted, obeyed the stronger warrior without asking any questions - because they knew, that he would answer them with his fist, and that if they would be lucky. Now three of them were observing their leader and waiting for his decision with keen interest. Telling the truth, Delgor didn't care at all about Coalpaw's scratches, or the handful of stolen food, but simple thought of allowing other vermin to steal and plunder in the surrounding country, which he recently began to consider his own small domain, was insufferable.

"On yer paws, lazy scum!" roared the big fox with all might of his lungs. "Today we are goin' on the weasel hunt!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

At evening, Keran Rustfur finally figured out, that he is hopelessly lost - first time in his short life. Skinny and disheveled young squirrel, no more than two seasons past dibbunhood, spent most of his conscious life in the woods, around his family's lonely house, and considered himself a seasoned forester. But despite his confidence, he was cautious enough in his long lonely strolls, never moving really far away from known parts of the forest, and instead expanding those parts bit by bit. Until today. Today, there was something in the spring air and the bright sun, that excited the young squirrel more than usual, and pulled him away from house, to chase birds amid tree branches, to explore unknown reaches and see something, that he never seen before. And now, when the sun began to set, and the heavy clouds covered the sky, it suddenly dawned on Keran, that he has no idea, to where this chaotic trip brought him. This realization didn't particularly frighten the youngbeast - on the contrary, it excited him even more. Prospect to spent the night in the wood alone was slightly scary, but at the same time fascinating for him, as any new adventure. The squirrel still had some of the food, taken from the kitchen this morning, and while he heard once or twice, about the band of foxes, roaming the countryside, he never paid much attention to such rumors. How they could catch an expert treeclimber like him, anyway? Thought, about what his mother and sisters could imagine, seeing, that he hadn't retuned for the night, bothered Keran for a second, but the squirrel ignored it. They barely noticed him, when he was at home, why should they worry, when he wasn't? However, considering the low-hanging clouds, promising a rain, sleeping at open air wasn't a particularly alluring idea. Of course, he could climb to the top of some large tree and look for a light or a smoke, marking presence of somebeast's house, but this plan was rejected almost immediately. Being somewhere between twelve and thirteen seasons old, he liked to think of himself as of an independent squirrel, capable to survive in the woods without help. Therefore, Keran started to search for a suitable refuge without delay. After half an hour, when the sun already was below the horizon, he could congratulate himself, having found the large tree, nearly torn from earth and broken in two few seasons ago by a furious hurricane. Under its roots, partially ripped from the ground, a small cave was formed. This wasn't a perfect shelter from rain, but better than nothing. And, as if to remind him it, first large raindrops fell from the sky at this very moment. Shivering from the cold water, the squirrelkid hastily rushed to the cave and tried to get in. In the next instant Keran sorely regretted not only his decision to hurry there, without looking and sniffing around first, but also that he left his home today at all. Because just as he kneeled before the low entrance, a pair of strong paws seized him, and pulled into the darkness!

Everything was so sudden, that the squirrel didn't even had a time to understand, what happening. He managed only to squeak once, before his nose was pressed down to the ground and some pointy thing pricked his neck.

"Try to scream, and you will die," cold, harsh voice was coming right from behind his ears. But Keran could not scream, even if he tried to. Icy grip of terror literally paralyzed him. He could not see, what kind of beast was sitting on his back now, but the smell, filling the space under vault of roots he has, this acrid smell he recognized immediately, even though he never encountered it before. Woodlanders described it to their dibbuns in tales and histories warning youngbeasts about cruel and greedy vermin. The mustelid stench! In his entire life Keran never was so frightened, not even when he once fell from a tree branch into a river and nearly drowned. He was too scared to resist, too scared to scream, and almost too scared to hear the question of his captor.

"Who you are, and what, in the Hellgates, you need here?"

Haven't received any answer, except for a frantic shudder, the vermin reflected for a moment, then slightly weakened his grasp and removed the weapon from the squirrel's neck.

"Don't fear. I won't eat you. Do as I say, and nobody would be hurt. And now, answer my questions. So, who you are?"

"I'm Keran... Keran Rustfur" - squirrels' voice quavered from fear quite pathetically, but he barely noticed it. - I'm lost here in the woods... accidentally... I didn't know, that is it your cave."

"Mine cave?" responded his captor, slightly amused. "I'm here just for one night. You are alone?"

Keran thought about lying, but quickly understood, that it was too late for this, even if he will be able to gather enough composure and wits for this.

"Yes, I said already, that I'm lost".

"Lost, eh? That's good, Keran," for a few moments, the vermin was quiet, as if deliberating. "Listen closely, squirrel. Now, I shall release my grasp. But don't even think about anything stupid. I am stronger than you and I am armed and I can see in this darkness. You will spend the night in this cave, because I wouldn't appreciate a crowd of woodlanders coming here to bury me in my sleep. In the morning, I will be on my way, and you could go wherever you want. Do you agree?"

"Yes, I agree, mister weasel," despite this words, the squirrelkid decided to flee at the first opportunity. As soon, as he will reach a nearest high tree, he will be safe!

"Don't call me 'mister weasel'," grumbled the vermin, rising from his back. "I have a name".

"And what it is?" cautiously asked Кеran, getting up to sit.

"Aulbek. Make way, squirrel," weasel's paw, invisible in the pitch-black darkness, pushed him to an earthen cave wall.

"I want to build a bonfire, but now all this excuse for firewood, that I gathered is scattered across the cave - it wasn't very nice for you, to fall straight in the heap," explained the mustelid.

Keran, who realized, at last, what so painfully dug in his hide, when he was pressed to the floor, swiftly crawled away. The weasel, seemingly, said the truth, about his ability to see in the darkness, besides, now he blocked way to the exit. Keran gritted his teeth and leaned against a cave's earthen wall, waiting for a more convenient moment for flight. A few minutes later, his captor at last managed to kindle a fire with flint and iron. Its dim light, at last allowed Aulbek to be seen, and the two beasts stared in the faces of each other. For a time, both were silent. The weasel seemed slightly confused, upon discovering, that his prisoner was a very young and quite lanky squirrel. The weasel likely would be able to count Keran's ribs under his dark, rust-red fur, from where he sat, if not for the squirrel's old shirt, freshly stained with earth. In turn, young woodlander was surprised, how thin his captor was - it was amazing, that youngbeast, who obviously suffered from starvation, could remain so strong. He was surprised even more, when Aulbek spoke, in almost guilty tone.

"You aren't hurt? Didn't want to grab you so harsh, just an old habit kicked in."

"Yes, I'm not..." seeing, that nobody forbids to him to move, Keran quickly examined himself and moved his limbs to and fro. It looked like nothing was broken, and he could endure a few bruises and scratches. He decided not to ask about the weasel's 'habit', and how it was developed, fearing to receive the honest answer.

By this time, smoke from the small bonfire filled the cramped cave - entrance was too small for all of it to flow through in time. The weasel had sneezed a few times and started to pull his rather meager supplies from the haversack. He hungrily bitten off a large piece of scone, then took a half-empty jar, partially full of strawberry jam, and suddenly stopped, glaring at Keran. The squirrelkid involuntarily shuddered.

"Hey, kid, do you have some food? Don't try to hide it."

"Well... yes," sullenly answered Keran. Lying was useless - the weasel always could search him. With a heavy sigh, he reached to his bosom, and fetched a loaf of nutbread from inner pocket of his shirt. Cursing silently, the squirrel stretched his paw with loaf to Aulbek, but the weasel pushed it away.

"Eat it yourself. Woodlanders looking at me with hungry eyes spoil my appetite."

Keran didn't need a second invitation and immediately filled his mouth with bread, fearing that the vermin could change its mind. Both beasts quickly finished their scant suppers. The squirrel picked up crumbs, which fell on the clothes and ate them. The weasel licked his lips and stuffed remaining food back into the haversack - he still was hungry, but decided to eat sparingly, because he didn't know when he would be able to acquire more food. Then Aulbek looked up at Keran, and the squirrel shuddered again, noticing, that the mustelid eyes were... hungry?

"Stop trembling," his obvious fright hadn't gone unnoticed. "I already said, that you won't be hurt. And if I wanted to do something bad to you, I would have done it thirty and three times by now. Why woodlanders are such cowards?"

"I'm not a coward!" indignation forced Keran to forget fear for a second.

"Yeah?" the weasel shrugged its narrow shoulders. "Why then you are shivering? Why you didn't resist me? Why you still aren't tried, say, to throw a pawful of coals into my face and rush to the exit?"

The squirrel has opened his mouth for an answer, but the words remained unsaid, and not because of fear. He realized, that Aulbek was right.

"That's right, you cannot argue this," summed up their short argument the weasel. Then he moved closer to his prisoner: the rain outside poured as from a bucket and small streams of water, which leaked inside the cave, almost reached his footpaws.

"I'm going to sleep. And you should sleep too," Aulbek yawned, demonstrating the magnificent set of sharp white teeth, that, however, lacked left lower canine.

"And don't think, that you can run away. I hear everything even in my sleep. Otherwise, they would have finished me a long time ago..."

"Who are 'they'?" this time Keran failed to constrain his childish curiosity.

"That's none of your business, kid," cold, even threatening tone of the weasel instantly killed all desire to ask further questions, or show anger about being constantly called a kid.

Aulbek shifted, trying to assume more comfortable position on the cold earth. At last, he stretched his long body across the floor, so, that it blocked the squirrel's way from the cave, and closed eyes. Weasel's right paw still was holding the wooden stick, and he moved his dagger so, that it was under his back. Keran curled into a ball in a corner and closed eyes too. But the young woodlander had absolutely no intention to sleep, however. As well, as absolutely no trust in sincerity of Aulbek's words. Every fool knows, that vermin are untrustworthy deceivers! Waiting, until his captor will fall asleep and then trying his luck in flight appealed to the squirrel much more, than simply sitting, and guessing, if the weasel will be true to his words. Bonfire was slowly dying down to embers, and the uncomfortable shelter of the two young beasts gradually plunged into darkness. Aulbek and Keran were silent and still: both seemed sleeping. The squirrel silently watched his captor from under nearly closed eyelids, but could not say, whether the verminbeast really fallen asleep, or only pretends to do so, just like him. In any case, he decided to wait for an hour or two, just to be sure: succumbing to sleep while sitting on the cold and rough ground, near to the fearsome weasel, was impossible anyway, so Keran wasn't afraid of this. At least, so it seemed. The squirrel didn't even notice, at which moment his fatigue finally triumphed over fear and discomfort...

8


	2. Hunting the hunters

2. Hunting the hunters.

"He had let you go, without laying a claw on you?"

The old mouse hesitated slightly, before answering.

"Yes. You can say it in that way. Well, by then I had nothing to take anyway..."

"Nothing to take? How about your hide and meat? They no longer are good, but sometimes vermin aren't picky."

Every woodlander among the crowd, that gathered around a large oval table of the wood shuddered upon hearing these words. Every woodlander, except the one who said them – a large and well-muscled otter, the only representative of his kind among the gathered beasts.

"You got lucky today," he continued, addressing to Setton - the old mouse, which Aulbek met this morning. "In your place, I would thank fates for it".

"How you dare to say it?" Irta, large middle-aged hogwife, was furious. "Poor Setton didn't hurt a fly in his life, and now he is robbed, and beaten nearly just for fun! And you call it a good luck?"

"He is alive, not crippled or mauled, and not taken as a slave," indifferently responded the otter. "Some beasts, that I had displeasure to meet, would have stabbed him in the gut, just to entertain themselves. That's more luck, than you deserve."

"Than we deserve?" Irta jumped up from her chair, fuming with indignation. "Just listen to him! Do you want to say, that he should have died?"

"No, I want to say, that he suffered because of your own negligence. That all of you are guilty of what happened today."

Face and voice of the otter were devoid of any expression. He slowly looked around, examining mice, voles, hedgehogs and rabbits, who crammed in a lunch hall of Irta's house. And one by one, smaller woodlanders lowered their heads, or stumbled back, unable to withstand the heavy glare of his emotionless brown eyes. Only hogwife herself faced it without flinching, and was bold enough to respond.

"And how, exactly, we are guilty of this horrible crime, answer me, Terys, who was once called the Otterguard of the Northlands"!

If her angry words had any effect at all on Terys, it was imperceptible. In the same indifferent tone he retorted.

"The foxes appeared here more than a season ago. You already know, where they usually make their camp. There is only five or six of them. As far as I can judge, you can easily gather twenty strong beasts, against each of the bandits."

"But we aren't warriors," Setton shook his head. "We have no trained fighters among us, and there is no..."

The mouse slowed down at this point, and the otter finished his phrase for him.

"And you have no killers among you. Therefore you decided to find one, so that he will take care of the robbers," this time, his words were tinged with barely noticeable venom. Irta wanted to say something, but the otter raised his paw, demanding silence.

"I'm tired of this bickering. You already said more, than I need to hear. Now, choose two strong beasts, they will come with me."

"But we aren't warriors..." loudly whispered somebeast among the crowd.

"I noticed. But I need other beasts to carry my weapons, and to carry myself if I will be wounded. And I need them soon."

The otter crossed scarred paws on his chest and looked at direction of a small semicircular window.

"I cannot use my bow in such downpour - water will soak the bowstring and make it useless. But this rain soon will be over. And then, my hunt shall begin. Delgor won't see the next sunset, of this I swear."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Keran was awakened by a horrid groan. While he was dreaming, rain ceased and skies cleared, so now the cave wasn't completely pitch black, due to moonlight, coming through the entrance. Still, the squirrelkid barely managed to hold a scream of terror - and he would surely fail to do so, if he heard this unearthly sound in the complete darkness. Pressing his back against the wall, he feverishly tried to discern, what happened, abandoning all attempts to look sleeping. First, Keran thought, that Aulbek just vanished from his old place, and this scared him even more, but when squirrel's eyes slightly adapted to the surrounding gloom, he discerned still silhouette of the weasel, who, as it was seeming, just rolled away in his sleep. Young woodlander calmed down a little. Maybe frightening groan was, really, just a part of a bad dream? And then Aulbek moved a little and moaned again - so horrible, that all of the Keran's hairs stood on end. It sounded, like the unfortunate beast was dying in painful agony. For a moment, the squirrel hesitated, torn by doubt: now, when the way out was free, he could run. But what if Aulbek was really on the edge of a grave? Keran wasn't a particularly sentimental youngster, and just two hours before desired for his captor to fall through the earth straight to the Hellgates, but now, when the mustelid seemed dying, he unexpectedly felt something like pity.

The weasel rolled over from side to side and curled into a ball of fur and dirty clothing, mumbling something unintelligible, and only then Keran finally figured out, what really tortured him - not physical pain, but an exceptionally vivid nightmare. Weight of doubt was instantly removed from squirrel's conscience. Very slowly, he began crawling to the exit, moving bit by bit, so if the weasel will wake up from delirious dream, he could pretend to be sleeping. This time fortune has smiled to the woodlander - Aulbek didn't moved once, while his prisoner was slowly sneaking away. Only when Keran made it to the entrance, and was practically outside, he suddenly moved his paw, as if clutching something, and moaned a few words barely audible words through gritted teeth. The squirrel reflexively pricked up his tufted ears, trying to catch them, and immediately regretted it.

"Kill you... return... fa... don't... kill you... eat your heart..." whimpered the vermin in his dream. These words were sufficient to finally blow away Keran's remaining courage and composure. Fit of panic overcame him. He rushed outside, like a launched slingstone, not caring anymore about noise he was making, and ran away, without even looking where. All thoughts disappeared from his mind, except for one - to put as much distance between himself and the terrible weasel, as possible. The squirrel, in his present condition, didn't even realized now, that he can do it much faster, by climbing up a tree. Instead of it, he was simply running, running madly, running blindly, straight across puddles of rainwater and through bushes, running until his footpaws became numb, and his lungs were burning as if someone filled them with embers, and even after that. This insane flight was stopped only by a low precipice, which happened to be in the way, and which the fear-crazed youngbeast didn't notice. Impact of the fall, knocked the air out of Keran's breast, and shock of it suddenly cleared his mind. The panic receded, and insane energy, provided by it, disappeared too. For a few minutes, the squirrel just laid on his back, trying to regain his breath, too exhausted to be afraid. And then he clumsily sat up, looked at himself, then looked around barely believing, that the fearsome vermin didn't followed him and began to weep silently. Now, when immediate danger was absent, Keran was ashamed of himself. Before this day, juvenile squirrel never felt such shame. Because before this day, he never was so helpless. So miserable. So pathetic. He shook his head.

"You are right, Aulbek. I'm a coward. I could only tremble as a dry leaf before you. But..." Keran gritted his teeth and inhaled deeply. His right paw curled into a fist, so tight, that claws left bloody scratches on the palm, but didn't even noticed it. "But I will become brave, I swear. I will become strong. I will never be afraid of beasts like you anymore. When we shall meet again, YOU will tremble before me!"

Last words burst from his throat in a yell.

"Well said," hoarse voice, came down on the youngbeast like a cold shower. "Care to tell, who hurt yer feelings so much?" And with cruel laughter from behind of a nearby tree appeared Delgor the Scarlet.

One second, Keran sit frozen in place, like a statue. Then, with all his remaining strength, he jumped left, to the nearest tree. And barely avoided the clutches of another fox. He ran back, but half-circle of silently approached bandits, surrounded him from all sides. With cry of desperation, the cornered squirrel tried to climb the precipice, but tired paws failed their owner and he rolled straight to the footpaws of Delgor. Foxes laughed.

"So, what beast we caught tonight?" with a broad grin, the robber chieftain kicked the nearly stunned youngbeast in a belly. Paralyzed by a pain, Keran curled on the ground, gasping for air. "Looks like a drowned rat... Get him, dimwits!"

Snakegrasp and Tornhide, two strongest, after their leader, beasts in the band, swiftly grabbed Keran's paws and jerked him upwards, so that his head was on the same level with Delgor's eyes, and his footpaws were hanging in the air.

"Didn't yer parents teach you, that when ye meet another beast, you should politely greet him?" said the scarlet fox mockingly, and then grasped the squirrel's throat, locking eyes with his victim. "Now listen to me, whelp. I search for one peculiar beast – the weasel with pale, gray-brown hide. An' I must admit, that after entire night under the rain, I am a bit angry. So it is better for you t' speak truthfully! You seen him? Speak!"

Keran shuddered, trying to look away, but remained silent.

"Speak!" paw on his throat clenched harder, so that sharp claws painfully dug in the hide. After a few seconds, Delgor loosened grasp again, enabling the squirrel to speak.

"Go to the Hellgates, vermin!" was the only response. Delgor, completely unfazed, scratched his ear idly, looking at his captive, who was desperately trying to look bold and defiant.

"This isn't a game kid, so stop playin' a hero," and to confirm his words, he hit Keran in the face. Though the big fox pulled his punch, because he didn't want an instant knockout, this left youngbeast's face bloodied.

"That's an advance," Delgor smiled again. "I suggest ye t' loosen yer tongue, if ye don't want to be crippled for the rest of yer pathetic life. And no lyin', please. I smell weasel stench on yer clothes and fur. So answer faster, where ye two met. Answer, while ye're still whole! Judging by yer looks, ye an' he hardly parted as friends, so why you shouldn't give him in? Speak, little shithead!"

"But why?" suddenly cried out youngest and thinnest fox in the band, who usually was called simply Scanty by his stronger companions.

"Whaaaat?" Delgor slowly turned to him. "Ye stammered something, milksop?"

"Er, I mean, he left a clear trail behind. We all seen it. We can just go alongside it, an' come t' the weasel, yea? Why bother with him, chief?"

"Because it's more amusing 'tis way," with these words, Delgor pushed Scanty with his palm so hard, that the smaller fox fell on the rain-drenched earth. Other vermin laughed at his misfortune.

"Why ye are laughing, halfbrains?" suddenly barked Delgor. Laughter immediately died down. "He's right. We'll use trackin' - trail shows way in the forest better, than words."

He turned back, and poked Keran's chest with his claw. "Bind him, an' take him with us! Our small talk isn't finished yet!"

Snakegrasp and Tornhide swiftly wringed squirrel's paws, without even paying attention to his weak resistance and bound them tightly with a rope. Then one of them seized Keran's head, so that he was unable to move it, and other put a gag, made from a dirty piece of cloth in his mouth with long-practiced skill.

"Now, move yer paws, weakling," growled Tornhide, pushing him forward. "Or we shall drag ye."

"An' don't try anythin' funny, if you value your hide, mudface," added Snakegrasp, and confirmed his words by tugging his end of the rope, that tied Кеran's paws, so sharply, that pain reverberated through squirrel's entire body.

For a moment Keran was thinking about simply lying on the ground and refusing to comply with any orders, but soon rejected this idea. By trying to prove the bravery in such way, he could only get himself killed or maimed. His eyes again were wet with tears, but this time it were tears of hatred and helpless rage. Silently promising his tormentors all kinds of a terrible retribution, which he was able to imagine, he began to walk forward, prodded and pushed by both foxes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After awakening, Aulbek found itself hungry, frozen, even more tired than at the evening, and partially soaked in rainwater, that flooded bottom of the small cave. However, comparing to his dreams, that wasn't so bad. This time, nightmare was exceptionally horrible. With a loud groan, the weasel rubbed his eyes, slowly crawled up in a sitting position, and discovered, that he was alone. In that very instant, his drowsiness disappeared without a trace. Damned kid could return with relatives and neighbors to finish him off! Aulbek grasped his heavy stick and pricked up both ears. There were no suspicious sounds, and he calmed down a little. But remaining here was risky. Moreover, sun was already rising. The wanderer hastily picked up his haversack and crawled outside, intending to eat on the move.

Aulbek didn't even understand then, what has warned him about an ambush: whether it was a whiff of fox's scent, caught at the last moment, or almost inaudible rustle. At such moments, when even a smallest pause, required for a consciousness to realize incoming danger, meant death, Aulbek acted on the pure instincts. Without thinking, he thrust the pointed stick to the right, and rushed forward, ducking, so the blow, aimed at his head from the left only grazed his shoulder. But it was enough to make the weasel lose balance and fall on his face. His weapon was stuck in something, or someone and wringed out of his paw. Aulbek nimbly rolled forward with the blow, and quickly was on footpaws again. Not quickly enough. Before the young weasel had time to even see, who attacked him, something heavy hit the back of his head and world went black.

5


	3. Pain and blood

3. Pain and blood.

Aulbek's second awakening on this day was even less pleasant, than first. It looked like, that now he was a prisoner, bound to a tree trunk. Ropes tied his wrists so tightly, that his paws were numb, his head throbbed with pain, his clothes were gone, and some sadist poured terribly cold water on hin. With whimper of pain, Aulbek has opened eyes and found before himself vaguely familiar face of the middle-aged fox, stretched in cruel grin.

"Remember, that I wanted to show ya a joke, weasel whelp? Now, we'll see, if ya like it," giggled Coalpaw and turned back to other foxes. "Hey, mates, he's awake!"

"Well," Delgor stopped honing his favored knife, and looked up at the captive. "A really tough weasel we have here, even if it looks wimpy. Most beasts would've died after my blow. This one wasn't so lucky. Too bad for him."

While he was speaking, Aulbek has shaken off water from his head, ignoring pain, which pierced it after each movement, and looked around. He was on the edge of a small glade, in the middle of which burned a bonfire. Around it sat four rough-looking foxes. And to a tree on glade's opposite side was bound Keran, looking like he was dragged by his footpaws across half of the Northlands. The weasel cursed between his teeth. Now he recognized Coalpaw, and figured out, in whose clutches he was. Delgor slowly approached Aulbek, playfully twirling the knife in his paw.

"I don't know who ye are, weasel, and, must admit, don't even care. Ye robbed one of my beasts and killed another, so..."

"Killed?" interrupted him Aulbek. "When I managed to do this?"

"When you stabbed Sourbreath in the belly with yer accursed stick. We were forced to put our poor mate out of his misery - none survives with such wounds," Delgor put his heavy paw on the shoulder of the helpless beast and smiled, raising the sharp knife to weasel's nose. "In my opinion, that was not a very nice thing t' do. And not very good for yer health, t' boot."

Snakegrasp and Tornhide hurried to come closer. Like Coalpaw, they didn't want to miss the fun.

"Hm, maybe I stabbed your guy accidentally. But why kill me for this? This won't return him to life," Aulbek tried to portray an ingratiating smile, but instead his face twisted into a scary grimace. "And I can replace him. I wanted to join real raiders for a long time. If I only knew, that this black-pawed blockhead, is one of the band I wouldn't even touched him."

"Who you called blockhead? You little ba..."

Enraged Coalpaw has rushed to the bound beasts, raising a fist, but Delgor stopped him in his tracks, deftly placing the knifepoint against fox's throat.

"He calls ye blockhead. And, well, you are one, if such whelp was able t' beat crap out of ye. Now, shut your trap!" the crimson fox paused, pondering weasel's words.

"Spare me and you will see, how useful a skilled weasel can be!" noticed his hesitation Aulbek. "I can track, hunt, fight or steal, whatever you order!"

Keran, did not believe his ears. How he could tremble before such a coward, ready to beg for mercy, as soon as he met someone stronger? The squirrel would have shouted it aloud, if not for the gag in his mouth.

The scarlet fox wasn't slow-minded - he quickly came to a final decision. Certainly, the weasel could be useful to him - Delgor had enough experience to become an officer in any horde, if he wanted to, and could identify a warrior prodigy, when he saw it. Even ambushed, this brat succeeded in fatally wounding one of his foxes, and nearly managed to avoid the trap. Without a doubt, he was a natural born killer. But exactly for this reason, Delgor had no desire to spare him. The weasel was simply too dangerous to hold him close. The big fox was ambitious, but he was also cunning and cautious. Lack of capable beasts around him meant lack of rivals… And he preferred to be safe, than sorry, no matter how much the role of chieftain in the insignificant band of losers dismayed him. Anyway, weasel's promises stank with deception and falseness so much, that it could be scented from a mile.

"D' ye think, that I'm a fool? Now ye'll promise anythin' and everythin', to avoid my knife, an' then'll betray me as soon, as you could. No - those who kill my beasts should pay for it!"

Last words were added solely for the other foxes. It was useful to show, from time to time, that their lives meant something for their leader.

Aulbek's fake smile instantly turned to a grimace of spite.

"Considering yourself clever, fox bastard? You are simply a petty thie... Arrghhhh!" words stopped abruptly, when Delgor slammed a fist in his stomach.

"So where we've stopped?" grinned the scarlet fox, raising his knife again.

Keran thought, that the villain intends to kill his prisoner right there, and promptly shut his eyes. The naive squirrel was sorely mistaken. The next fifteen, or so, minutes became worst in his entire life. Not because what foxes did to Aulbek was horrible, and disgusting, though it was. Not even because Keran feared, that he would be next in line for the torture. But because all it was happening due to his actions. Aulbek was caught, because he, Keran was a stupid, frightened brat! He would have cried again, if not for weasel's stoic resolve - no matter, how badly cut, beaten or burned, Aulbek only hissed and gritted his teeth. And so, Keran stopped his tears and forced himself to look. If other beast could endure such pain, then he, at least, could endure seeing consequences of his foolishness!

Fortunately, for their victim, foxes were enthusiastic, but unskilled torturers. Soon, Aulbek slumped in his bonds, and neither cold water, nor hot iron was able to produce any reaction from him. At last, Delgor left the still body alone, licked sprinkles of blood from his muzzle and yawned wearily.

"With all of this weasel huntin', and weasel cuttin', I forgot to sleep. Though, there's still one unfinished business."

Squirrel's heart sunk in his chest, when the blood-soaked fox walked to him, but he tried to look defiantly. Only when fox's knife was within hairlength from Keran's face, he closed his eyes in fear. But this time, Delgor only cut a cloth, which was holding the gag in prisoner's mouth.

"Hey, kid, d' ye know, why I ordered to bring ye with me?"

The squirrel spat out the gag, thought for a moment and shook his head.

"Just between us, I like these woods. Rich plunder, quiet life, no larger bands of hordes, which can press ye in their ranks... But locals sometimes still are too brave for their own good. Tryin' to run from us, tryin' to deceive us, tryin' to hide their goods from us... What's next, an attempt to fight us? This'll be very bad, don't ye agree? So, ye will go, and tell t' everyone in these parts of the forest, what I do with my enemies – that'll help 'em to throw such stupid ideas out of their heads." Delgor waved his paw in general direction of Aulbek's lacerated body. He waited, until the expression of poorly hidden relief has appeared on Keran's face, and then continued.

"But at first... At first ye'll pay for yer stupid words. I wonder, what we can cut off from our little hero, without endangerin' his life, to make my point clear?"

"An eye! One is enough for him - why he needs second?" giggled Tornhide.

"No, tail!" shouted Coalpaw in response. "I bet, it'll make a good collar!"

His offer was met by another explosion of evil laughter. Only Scanty, who wasn't participating in the sadistic 'entertainment' of his companions at all, kept silent. His gloomy silence didn't go unnoticed by Delgor, who, suddenly, conceived a new cruel idea.

"Hey, Scanty, and what d' ye think?"

The smaller fox looked cautiously at the leader. Most of the time, Delgor simply failed to notice the weakest member of his band, and most certainly, he never asked for his opinion on anything. Scanty was almost sure, that the cruel fox simply wanted to crack some malicious joke, at his expense, and therefore hesitated with the answer.

"Don't be so shy. Why ye're so moody today, anyway? I promise we will do as ye say. I can even swear, if ye want me to."

Scanty turned his face to Keran. For a moment, their eyes met, and the fox quickly hung his head.

"Ear. Cut off his ear," muttered he, without looking at anyone.

"Quite a good idea, my young friend," Delgor sneered. "But I think, that ye should do it yerself. Otherwise, it'll be unfair - ye need to have some fun, too."

"I'm probably caught cold under the rain," Scanty, shrugged his bony shoulders, avoiding Delgor's eyes. "No mood for the fun today"

"Really? I noticed, that ye never are in the mood for our fun. Ye also aren't that eager to fight..." with these words Delgor suddenly threw his knife, which plunged in the ground, barely missing Scanty's footpaw. "So of what use ye are to me then, ungrateful whelp! Hellsteeth, I picked ye up, when ye were starvin' to death on the road, I gave ye food, drink, clothes, I taught you how to use weapons and waylay woodlanders, an' now ye are shrinkin' from our ways!" The scarlet fox paused to calm down, then continued his speech.

"Ye know, in many hordes, a newcomer must bring somebeast's head to a warlord, to prove, that he have enough guts for our craft? For me, ear of this kid will suffice," Delgor smiled and unsheathed his broadsword. "Or yer worthless hide, instead of it. Choice is yours!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"This endless march makes no sense, yes! How we are supposed to find them, anyway?" exclaimed sweating and heavily breathing hedgehog.

"That's right!" supported mouse, that was trudging behind him. "We must rest."

Terys stopped and slowly turned to his traveling companions. His face was blank, as usual.

"You will rest, when the foxes will be finished. I am much older than you, but I'm not complaining," battered and scarred otter had so much endurance, as if his body was forged from iron - he spent half of the night and entire morning on his paws, but still seemed completely fresh.

"So why don't you carry all of it, then!" grumbled the irritated hedgehog.

Indeed, besides the short saber and the dagger on his belt, Terys only carried one of his double-pointed javelins in the right paw. All of his other weapons - the round shield, the chainmail, half-dozen spare javelins, the longbow with two quivers of arrows, and the throwing axe - were loaded on the two youngbeasts.

"Because I must save my strength for a fighting." calmly reminded the warrior. "If you want, Twirgle, we can exchange our roles - I shall carry the weapons, and you with Darlek shall battle the foxes."

"Battle?" Twirgle, the third son of Irta, inherited her strong, stubborn personality, and forcing him to back down wasn't an easy task. "This ill-fated rain destroyed all trails, we don't know, why they left their camp and to where they go, so, how we can fight them, if we have no chance to find them?"

"Let me..." the otter went silent and tense all of a sudden, trying to guess direction to a sound, which was barely audible even to his sharp senses. Both of his assistants involuntarily stumbled backwards, as the terrifying cold rage twisted Terys' calm features for a moment. Before any of them had time to open a mouth, the otter snatched another javelin from Darlek's paws, so swiftly and forcefully, that completely surprised mouse lost his balance and sprawled on the ground. And then, he ran forward with all possible speed.

"Stay here!" were only words Terys had the time to growl, before disappearing among trees.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Delgor the Scarlet sighed heavily, looking on Keran's unconscious form. Never know, what you can expect from these squirrels! The brat endured parting with his own ear without a sound, though Scanty with his clumsy and trembling paws, finally managed to cut it off only after many attempts. But when Delgor used heated knifeblade, to stop blood and prevent the wound from inflaming, damned whelp lost consciousness with a scream, which, probably, was heard within a distance of half-day march. The big fox spat, and decided to leave his victim to its fate. If he is strong enough, he will regain his consciousness by himself, and if not, why bother?

"Rise, sluggards!" barked he, addressing to other bandits. "We shall look for other place t' sleep, this one stinks too much!"

The foxes hastily began to collect their belongings. Coalpaw, whose axe was hopelessly destroyed in the bonfire, reached for the long dagger, taken from Aulbek, but Delgor kicked him aside.

"Don't ye knew, that the best loot goes to the chieftain?" he took the masterwork weapon, and thrust it through his belt.

"Take away Scanty's spear, it's useless in the paws of this slobbering cub anyway!"

Coalpaw lacked courage to object, so he just spitefully raked the earth with his footpaw, and turned to the weaker fox, who still sat, clutching his knees with his paws and staring into space. He didn't even react on Coalpaw's approach.

"Now this spear is mine." proclaimed old robber lifting the crude weapon from the ground. "Just touch it again, and yer sorry tail will be kicked. Like this!"

Coalpaw was in a foul mood, so he supported his words with a vicious kick to Scanty's side. He was sure, that weakest of the foxes wouldn't dare to retaliate, and already started to walk away, when Scanty jumped up, like an uncoiled spring and slammed into him with unexpected fury. Coalpaw was caught by surprise - before he realized, what happened, sharp teeth and claws already were ripping his hide. But Scanty, in accordance with his name, was a small, poorly fed fox, and nobody cared to teach him how to fight. And Coalpaw was stunned by his attack only for a short moment. After that, he easily hurled his skinny opponent on the ground and started to beat him with butt end of the spear.

"Hellsteeth! Ya asked for it, worm!" ruthless blows rained on the miserable fox, who barely managed to turn over on his stomach and to cover his head with both paws. This feeble attempt to protect himself only angered Coalpaw even more.

"Now, do you like it whhhhhhhh..."

Furious shout of the robber turned into a dying wheeze. With silent astonishment, the old fox looked at javelin's point, protruding from his chest. Well-aimed weapon struck Coalpaw in the back and ran him through. Other villains, observing the beating with mild curiosity, stiffened in shock. But their seasoned leader regained his wits almost instantly and whirled to face a direction, from whence the deadly missile had flied - just in time to see the otter, appearing from behind a tree, and raising another javelin. Instinctively, Delgor threw himself flat, and this time instincts hadn't failed him - the javelin only ruffled fur on the top of his head and disappeared in the forest depths.

"Move, idiots!" roared chieftain, grasping his own spear and jumping back to the footpaws. "Kill him!"

Before he managed to finish his words, the otter already crossed half of the distance to his opponents, drawing his saber on the run. Snakegrasp hurled his battleaxe at the closing foe, but missed. Left unarmed, he panicked and tried to run, but stumbled and fell on his back. Delgor waved his paw, launching the spear, to impale the otter at the moment, when he will be slashing at Snakegrasp, but the sharp-eyed woodlander noticed the danger and stopped abruptly, so that the wide spearhead only grazed his breast. Tornhide yelled and charged the warrior with his long spear. The saber flashed, deflecting the metal tip, then the otter rushed forward, closing distance - and the fox fell, with a howl of agony, clutching the handle of dagger, which hung on the otter's belt a second later, and pierced his torso now. Before his body met the ground, the otter whirled, raising his saber swiftly to parry the swing of Delgor's broadsword. The scarlet fox tried to kick him in the groin, but the agile beast easily jumped back. While they were fighting, Snakegrasp crawled away, and picked up the spear, dropped by dying Coalpaw.

"Rise and fight, whelp!" barked he at Scanty, who still was lying, covering his head. "D' ye want to die?"

But the beaten fox remained motionless, maybe because he lost consciousness, maybe in hope, that the enemy would ignore him. Snakegrasp didn't pay attention to it – he turned to the fray, aiming for a throw. Delgor and his opponent fought ferociously, swinging and dodging blades with expertise, honed in many battles. Both were unarmored at the moment, so even a glancing blow could decide the outcome of their duel. The bigger and taller fox with his long blade had a much greater reach than the relatively short-pawed otter - he pressed on his nimble and fast opponent, trying to drive him back and corner against a tree. Both fighters noticed Snakegrasp, who was raising his spear, simultaneously. The robber chieftain knew skills and abilities of every beast in his band - in particular, he knew that Snakegrasp isn't very good with throwing weapons. Fear, that the spear could hit him, instead of the otter, distracted Delgor for a moment, and that proved to be his undoing. With incredible speed the otter ducked under slashing blade, caught fox's right paw with his left and thrust the saber straight into Delgor's belly. Both foxes screamed as one - Delgor from pain and fury, Snakegrasp from fear. Chieftain's left paw seized the pawguard of otter's saber, piercing his guts, preventing the otter from pulling it back. Seeing, that Snakegrasp already is swinging his spear, the otter released the saber handle and jumped aside. The crude spear flied through the air and found its target. Delgor was right, doubting Snakegrasp's skills - with a loud thud, his weapon pierced the scarlet fox chest!

The otter spend a second, looking as his enemy, who continued to struggle for his life, despite two fatal wounds, slowly slumped to its knees, and then sharply turned to the remained robber. One look at otter's face, resembling a twisted mask of cold rage, was enough for the vermin to understand - begging for mercy would be useless. Squealing in terror, Snakegrasp ran, hoping, that his longer footpaws will give him an advantage. But the otter didn't try to chase him. Instead, he lifted Tornhide's spear, and hurled it after the running fox with all his might. This spear was long, heavy and unwieldy for throwing, but it didn't prevent the otter from hitting the robber straight between shoulder blades. Snakegrasp made three stumbling steps and sprawled on the earth, face down. Seeing as the last enemy falls, the otter stopped, panting heavily. Grimace of rage, distorting his features, began to disappear. And at this very moment Delgor, who had enough time to pull Aulbek's dagger out of its sheath, collected all his remaining strength, and threw it at the back of his slayer. But otter's keen ears warned him about the danger, if a bit late. Guided by the reflexes, acquired during countless fights, the otter jumped to the right, dodging an attack and whirling to face the foe, at the same time, so the razor-sharp dagger only cut his left paw, instead of piercing his back.

For a second, Delgor the Scarlet stood on his knees, staring at the otter warrior in a dumb amazement.

"Who, in the Hellgates, ye are?" was all that he managed to croak, before blood streamed out of fox's mouth, and his body went limp. The otter didn't bother to answer. Instead, he walked straight to Scanty. The unlucky vermin choose just this moment to look, who won the fight. At the sight of coming otterwarrior he whimpered and covered his head again, silently praying for a quick death. But the fatal blow wasn't delivered. Instead, Scanty heard a hoarse voice.

"Fox, you have one last chance. Get your stinking hide out of here immediately, and it will remain attached to your body for now. If I ever meet you again in another band - you will die. And if I ever hear something about you from anyone in these parts of the forest - you will die, too."

Before he got to the middle of his speech, Scanty was already on his footpaws and stumbling away.

"Remember," growled the otter, "That I can spare brigands like you, who don't seem wholly rotten, but only once! If you try to attack peaceful beasts once again, you will learn why vermin call me Terys the Swiftdeath!"

The fox shuddered visibly and redoubled his efforts to get away. Terys the Swiftdeath was a bane and nightmare of brigands, robbers and hordebeasts in all of the Northlands. Not many woodlanders were able to boast, that scary tales are told about them at vermin campfires, and Terys was one of them. There were rumors that he killed more beasts, than most otters had seen in their entire life.

"Terys?... You are Terys?" upon hearing those words, resembling a groan of pain, the otter swiftly turned and his eyes met with the eyes of Keran, rising on his elbow. At the sight of maimed youngbeast, the warrior gritted his teeth, and almost regretted decision to let the last fox go.

"Yes, I'm Terys," ignoring his own nasty wound, he hurried to the squirrel and kneeled before him. "What they did to you?"

"Th-this is nothing..." Keran's voice was weak and trembling. "The big fox wanted... wanted me to tell about what they have done with Aulbek..."

"Aulbek? That's him?" Terys pointed at the blood-covered weasel.

"Y-yes..." the squirrel turned away, unable to look there, and silent sobs shook his body. "They killed him... Because of me... because I..."

"Killed?" the otter narrowed his black eyes. "But he still breathes, though weakly. He's alive!"

Suddenly Terys jumped up, as his ears brought to him sounds of running beasts, and almost rushed to a nearest weapon, but stopped, recognizing Twirgle and Darlek by their footsteps. When two woodlanders appeared on the corpse-strewn glade, one look around was enough for them to stumble back in shock. The mouse even turned away, barely constraining the nausea.

"You are in time." otter's voice again was calm and unemotional. "I need assistants, to carry two beasts."

"Two?" Twirgle's barely squeezed a question, as his stomach too rose to the throat.

"If I said two, I meant two." Terys looked at his left paw. Warrior's face remained blank, even at the sight of blood plentifully flowing from the wound, inflicted by Aulbek's excellent dagger. "One squirrel and one weasel."

7


	4. In healer's house

4. In the healer's house.

Keran failed to notice, when heavy darkness of unconsciousness engulfed him again. One moment, he was carried across the forest in the paws of Terys, next moment he was already lying in the warm and comfortable bed. Bandages covered half of his head, but instead of pain, he felt only weak tugging ache, in place, where his left ear previously was. Pain from bruises, scratches and strained muscles also subsided, leaving only weakness and fatigue behind. In fact, the squirrel found himself too exhausted, and his bed too snug to even move. Through bandages, he heard somebeasts' barely audible voices for a moment, but didn't even open the eyes. Soon, he fell into a deep, healthy sleep.

"He's sleeping now," murmured Illana to Terys quietly. "You should sleep too – after being on his paws for more than a night and a day, anybeast will need rest. Particularly, if he's seriously wounded."

"Thanks for your concern, Miss Illana. I would heed your advice, as soon, as I could. But first, please, tell me, about weasel's condition," the warrior decided to not mention, that he already asked this question three times.

The healer dormouse shook her head, before finally answering.

"He could die at any moment. A huge bloodloss, so many broken bones, that it is hard to count them all, and he was poorly fed, on top of it all. Almost surely, he also have some internal injuries from blows. I can only bandage him, and prevent wounds and burns from inflaming… Everything else is in Fate's paws. And though I hate those words, I still must say, that even if he will survive, he will regret it. A beast, crippled so badly, cannot live anymore, he can only exist, as a wreck of himself…"

"Why? The foxes didn't even begin to dismember him – probably, feared, that he will die too fast, if they cut off too much."

Illana shuddered at the very thought of sick creatures, capable to think in this way, then said.

"His bones. Some of them are fractured so badly, that I cannot set them right."

"You cannot? Do you mean, that some other healer still can do it, Miss Illana?"

She sighed deeply.

"You are really perceptive, aren't you? Yes, it is probably possible to fix such injuries – if you are a genius healer, experienced in treating weasels and other mustelids. And I… I never _seen_ a weasel before. I don't even know, will my pain-killer mixtures work on him, or not; or how he will react on my sleep potions…"

"But do you know someone, who can try to save him, Miss Illana? His life is very important for me. Moreover, as far, as I can judge, the squirrel kid will consider itself guilty, if this weasel won't survive. And I do not want him to live with such burden. Surely, you too wouldn't want it."

Silence hung heavily in the large room. The dormouse bit her lower lip. What she just heard? Was it really a shade of plead in warrior's expressionless voice, or just her imagination?

"Can I ask a question first, Terys?"

"Yes, but please, be quick – I fear, that we have no time for long conversations."

"Why? I mean, he's a weasel. Even I heard some stories, about Terys from Redwall, the legendary Otterguard of the Northlands. You, probably, one of the most famous verminslayers in entire North…"

"So, why, then, the hardened killer of vermin bother about some weasel's life, that's what you want to ask?" the scarred otter smiled humorlessly.

"I'm sorry, if I…"

"No need for apologies. You are mistaken, but I can't blame you for it," in contrast with his words, Terys' tone turned from simply calm to ice-cold calm. "I didn't dedicate my life to fighting vermin beasts, but to fighting evil beasts. Unfortunately, too many storytellers and songsingers fail to notice this small difference. There are other reasons too, but must we talk about them, really, when somebeast is dying?"

Shaking of healer's head was the only answer. Only after an entire minute of silence, she talked again, slowly, hesitating before each phrase.

"Yes, I know a healer, who possibly, just possibly, can succeed in such task. But she lives at two days' march from here…"

"Explain to me, how to get to her house, and I will reach it in a night and a day."

"You?" Illana raised her voice, forgetting herself for a moment, due to shock. "But you are wounded!"

"It's only a flesh wound. And even with it, I'm still the best runner, you can find."

Healer's response was filled with severe doubt:

"You lost much blood too – enough to drop unconscious from a heavy exertion. Moreover, if your wound starts bleed again, you could die. I cannot let you go. Surely, we can find somebeast else."

"I endured worse things in my life, Miss Illana. Much worse," upon hearing it, the healer dormouse reflexively looked at otter's impressive scars. Judging by their looks, Terys said the truth. "Don't worry about me. Just try to keep Aulbek alive until our return. So, where this healer lives?"

Illana sighed again, and turned her head, staring into the small window just to avoid otter's eyes.

"Please, wait for a second, Terys. There is one thing you must know first…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Keran woke up again, he was well-rested, hungry and thirsty. The squirrel stretched in his bed, and almost regretted this, as the nagging pain in just about every part of his body immediately returned. But it wasn't really bad – simply unpleasant.

"Ah, you are awake, at last," soft unfamiliar voice came from somewhere above and to the left from him.

Keran opened his eyes. Sun was rising now, and clean windows let in enough sunlight, to see the rather young female dormouse, sitting in a comfortable arm-chair beside his bed.

"Drink, please," all, that the young squirrel managed to force from his parched throat, was a hoarse whisper.

"As you wish," the dormouse put down her knitting, lifted a wooden beaker with water from the bedside table, and handed it to the patient. "Just don't spill it on the pillows."

Water disappeared in Keran's mouth almost instantly.

"Where am I?" the squirrel tried to look around, but accidentally brushed the fresh wound in the place of his missing left ear, against the pillow, and almost squeaked from a sudden pain.

"Please, be cautious. Your wound must not be touched," warned him the dormouse. "This is my humble house. I'm Illana Stiches, the resident healer and herbalist. And you are?.."

"Keran Rustfur."

"Rustfur?" the dormouse knit her brow, thinking. "Oh, I remember your family! I will send someone to tell them what happened as soon, as possible."

The squirrel's eyes rolled. He wasn't expecting anything pleasant from meeting with his mother and sisters. In fact, he would prefer loss of another ear to their inevitable reproaches and reprimands. Then another thought suddenly came to his head.

"What happened with Aulbek?" Keran silently chastised himself, for not thinking about the weasel sooner. "He's alive?"

Illana paused, gathering her thoughts before finally answering:

"He is, though just barely. He lived through the night – this is a good sign," words were chosen carefully, to be truthful, and, at the same time, reassuring. "And please, speak quietly – you shouldn't disturb him."

"Oh… sorry," Keran immediately lowered his voice to a whisper. "Can I see him?"

Not waiting for an answer, he sat upon his bed. The dormouse frowned slightly, and stood to help him, as he tried to rise on his footpaws.

"You are too rash for your own good. I hadn't allowed you to leave your bed yet. Youngsters…"

"Huh? Look, who's speaking – I bet, you aren't much older, than me."

The squirrel's retort was almost mechanical – like most juvenile beasts, he hated being treated like a kid, or even talked to in a corresponding tone. But it obviously touched Illana on the raw surface of her soul.

"Unlike you, I'm old enough, to avoid trouble, and even to heal those, who do not have wits for it!" she hissed furiously. Keran was taken aback by angry words.

"Erm… I'm sorry… I didn't mean to…"

But the dormouse already was ashamed for her outburst.

"I'm sorry too. Perhaps, I'm not so grown-up, as I like to think, if such words still can make me mad," she smiled sadly. "You wanted to see the weasel? He's right here."

Keran nodded, stood, and slowly walked to Aulbek's bed. The weasel was lying there motionlessly, even rising and falling of his chest was only barely noticeable. Layers of bandages covered him from head to toes, and thick herbal scent permeated the air.

"Is he… your friend?"

The young squirrel reflected, looking at mustelid's face, nearly unrecognizable, under all this bandages. The weasel was frightening, rude, insulting… a liar and a killer, to boot. Maybe Aulbek was lying to him too, as can be expected from a vermin, maybe he was even intending to do something horrible to him. But seeing the prostrate form of the unfortunate wanderer, Keran still couldn't feel anything but guilt and shame. Yes, Aulbek hardly could be called a pleasant beast… but he hadn't really hurt him, hadn't even robbed him. And in return, he led enemies to the weasel, though unwillingly… The squirrel bowed his head.

"More like my acquaintance."

4


	5. Unpleasant meetings

5. Unpleasant meetings.

Terys stumbled and fell forward, when his footpaw stepped on a small, pointy twig, almost unnoticeable in the moss. In the last moment, he remembered about his sore left paw, and wriggled in flight to land on the other side. Still, the impact sent a wave of pain through his body.

"By the fang!"

It is bad. Very bad. Such sensitivity most likely means, that his freshly sewed wound is inflaming. Slowly, the exhausted otter dragged himself back to a vertical position and looked around. Judging by the landmarks, he, at least, hadn't lost his way. Destination was close. But could it be reached in his present condition? A fit of vertigo almost overwhelmed Terys – fatigue, lack of sleep and loss of blood obviously were taking their toll on him.

"_You are getting old,_" crept to his head uninvited thought. The warrior only growled and forced himself to make another step forward. And another. And another. Later, he will have enough time to mourn the passing of his prime, or to regret his overconfidence. Now, he had a battle to won – a battle for beast's life. And he must walk, without pausing or stopping to rest – otherwise he will fall asleep!

Soon, Terys lost all sense of time. His world narrowed to the path before him, numb, disobedient footpaws, and aching lungs. How much time passed, before otter's ears registered sounds of somebeast behind him, quickly catching up with the injured warrior, he couldn't tell. Even in his current condition, Terys remained on guard. Wary, uncertain gait of his pursuer was clearly noticeable to him.

"_A brigand?_"

The otter continued to shamble forward, pretending to be oblivious to everything that happens behind his back. There was no way to know for sure, who is trying to shadow him, without looking back, but if it indeed was some brigand or robber, this would have alerted him. And fighting even a most cowardly enemy fair and square when you are already half-dead, and armed only with the short saber and dagger, was risky, to say the least. Guile promised more chances. If only he could lure whomever beast was behind him into a false sense of security, he could turn the tables on the would-be ambusher with one surprise swing! Terys knew how to draw the blade and attack in a single move. Granted, that wasn't his favorite trick, and in his exhausted state it could be too slow… but all of the other options seemed even worse. The otter continued to play an unsuspecting prey, while trying to pinpoint pursuer's location with his keen hearing. Timing and distance will be crucial: he must swing his saber when the enemy will be close enough for a clean hit, forestalling its blow for a split-second.

"_He's coming,_" Terys' heartbeat quickened. "_Closing fast, not really trying to be quiet!_"

A gust of wind brought scent of the unknown beast to otter's nostrils.

"_A female weasel,_" as he suspected, his stalker was a vermin. All remaining doubt gone, Terys tensed inwardly, gathering strength for the lightning-fast attack.

"_Six steps behind… Five… Four… Three! Here goes!_"

"Hey, y…" words came belatedly. The warrior was already spinning on his right pad, his mind too slow, and too consumed by the attack, to notice anything else in time. Terys' slash cut them short.

For a painfully long moment, the otter froze, staring at the weaselmaid before him – completely unarmed, except for a small knife, still remaining in its sheath. Looking, as weasel's shaking paw grasped her throat… and fell back to her side, smeared only with few drops of blood, which leaked from a shallow scratch on her skin, left by saber's tip. During a few seconds, both beasts remained silent and still in shock. Then weasel's footpaws failed her, and she would have crumbled to the ground, if not for the otter's quick reaction - Terys managed to drop his saber and catch her in time.

"I'm sorry!" his words resembled a howl of anguish. "I thought, you are a bandit! I didn't want to kill you!"

"I-i-i-t-t's all right," the weasel finally recovered from terror enough to speak. "Shouldn't have sneaking on you…"

She leaned against the otter, to regain her footing, but, unfortunately, at this very moment, last ounces of strength left him, alongside with the tension of battle. Both beasts slumped down in a pile of fur, but the weasel almost immediately rose, and sat on her knees.

"Who, in the Hellgates you are?" fear left her almost completely. "First, stumbling like an old hedgehog, then slashing like a pouncing wildcat, then dropping down like a gutted toad?"

Terys eyed her suspiciously. Being at vermin's mercy wasn't appealing to him at all. Though, at least, this weasel didn't look like a hordebeast. Typical horde females dressed garishly and rarely bothered to keep their clothes clean. This one wore the simple but tidy linen clothing. And spoke almost without an accent. She obviously wasn't a warriormaid, either. But still, introducing himself wasn't a bright idea. As far, as he knew, Terys Swiftdeath was usually presented as a bloodthirsty demon in vermin tales. This maid seemed harmless but she still had a knife… and maybe some much more dangerous relatives.

"I seek the famous fox healer… Rinta. Her home must be somewhere nearby. Help me, and you will be generously rewarded, of this I swear."

"Rinta?" a strange expression appeared on the weasel's face. "You're too late. She died last winter."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

After a copious dinner, Illana forced Keran to rest again. The young squirrel hadn't even tried to resist: weight of food in the stomach and pain, still were making him unwilling to move. And, to say the truth, he was a bit lazy anyway. At home, he usually hadn't much opportunity to bask in the warm, cosy bed at his leisure, so he didn't want to miss it now. The healer's house was surprisingly quiet – Keran noticed, that it stood separately in the wood, but still he found it strange, that the only visitor during the day, was a hedgehog, who came to check, how the rescued squirrel was faring, and what was his name. The hedgehog called himself Twirgle, son of Irta, and promised to deliver the news about Keran to his family at once. The young squirrel never seen him before, but he heard about Irta – if the loose community of woodlanders in these parts of the forest had something like a leader at all, the venerable hogwife was one, so even his family, that lived apart from others, knew about her. Keran also heard once, that there is only one real healer in the surrounding country, so he was slightly baffled. Surely, enough beasts around suffered from all kinds of maladies, so why nobody came to visit Illana for half of a day? Keran pondered about this for a quite long time, as he hadn't anything else to do anyway, until sleep claimed him.

Rather loud voices on the outside woke him up, when the sun was almost below the horizon.

The young squirrel opened his eyes, and listened, trying to understand, what was happening. Even with his bandages, he immediately recognized Illana's voice… and the voice of his own older sister, Kerya Rustfur. Keran barely held back a curse. Reprimands of his mother, Kinta promised to be bad enough, but his peevish, rowdy and stubborn sister simply drove him mad even in everyday situations. And, judging by the squabble, that he was hearing right now, not only him. The squirrel jumped from the bed, grabbed his freshly-washed shirt, left on the arm-chair by Illana, and promptly walked to the exit.

Illana and Kerya stood against each other on the lawn, before the doors of healer's house, Illana barring the way to the squirrelmaid. Both were breathing heavily from anger.

"And I say this last time: my patients should not be disturbed, so you must wait, like all gentlebeasts!"

"Patients! Hah! A vermin and the stupid brat!"

Just as Kerya said this, mentioned brat opened the door and stepped over the threshold.

"I heard that!"

Brother and sister exchanged venomous glares. They were rather similar in appearance – as much, as a beautiful beast can be similar in appearance to a plain one. Unlike Keran, Kerya was shapely, instead of scrawny. And her fur, while of the same rusty-red color, was sleek and glossy, instead of rugged and disheveled. Again unlike her sibling, she wore the well-fitting dress, instead of the baggy old shirt.

"Very good! Then I don't need to repeat this!"

Illana was nearly shocked.

"You must show more sympathy to your brother! He was…"

"I must, eh? Shut up, you pathetic charlatan!"

Usually, Keran avoided confrontations with the older sister, as well, as any contacts with her, if only because she seemed to enjoy verbal fights in which all of their conversations invariably turned. But now, when Kerya so casually reviled the kind dormouse, he exploded in anger.

"No, you should shut up, unless you want your tongue to be tied into a knot!" growled the young squirrel, baring his teeth.

"Ooooh, I'm soooo scared…" Kerya drawled her words in a mocking fright, staring at the advancing brother contemptuously. "Spewing threats against your own sister… Were you so bold, when facing vermin, my valiant brother? Hah! You won't dare to touch me anyway, coward!"

Last phrase she yelled. Keran barely restrained himself from really striking her. He hadn't lifted a paw against Kerya in seasons, ever since he grown too strong to be beaten, or physically intimidated by her. But it didn't meant, that he had no desire to. In fact, the young squirrel was itching to repay all of the abuse, which he suffered from his sister, tenfold. Particularly now.

"Insult her once again, and I will do it, I swear!" he stepped closer to her, going around Illana, but the dormouse turned, and blocked his path.

"Please, Keran! Don't quarrel, because of me! Calm down, you are still wounded!.."

"How touching…" smirked Kerya. But before she managed to invent more creative taunt, sounds of ponderous footsteps and heavy breathing warned her of another's beast approach.

"Ah, I'm just losing time here, anyway. If you are healthy enough to have such fighting spirit, then, I suppose, you are healthy enough to make it to our home by yourself. I just made a hitch on my way to the village, to say, how much mother wants to tan your hide, my oh-so-precious brother."

And the squirrelmaid turned to walk away, just as a large hedgehog, in whom Keran recognized Twirgle, appeared from the bushes, surrounding Illana's house. Keran would have been incredibly glad to see her leaving, if not for one small detail…

"Hey, and who would pay to Illana?"

"Eh? No idea." Kerya shrugged. "At least, not we – we have nothing to spare, if you forgot."

And while dumbfounded Keran was in a loss for words, she left.

"Accursed bit…" the squirrel was about to roar something obscene, and barely remembered in time, that he is not alone. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"Nothing to say sorry for, yes," squeezed out Twirgle, who was still trying to regain his breath after the long run. "I know her a little – she comes to our village from time to time. A real… ehm… what you were saying. Tried to watch her, just in case, but she ran away…"

Slow-moving beast deeply sighed.

"Never mind, that's nothing," assured him Illana. "And you Keran… I wouldn't insist on the payment from you. My father left me this house and garden… Don't worry about me, I have enough supplies."

The young squirrel just slumped on the grass. All energy left his body, and he suddenly felt himself ill. Blood throbbed painfully in the stump of his left ear.

"Keran!" dormouse's voice rang with concern. "Twirgle, help me to carry him into the bed, please!"

"Hey, no need to do this!" protested the squirrelkid weakly. "Just let me rest a little."

"Yes, you need to rest. In the bed," firmly answered the healer. "And it is time to change your bandages, anyway, so stop arguing, please!"

"At least, let me walk to it myself!" Keran didn't relish the idea of being carried, like a helpless cub.

"You are a stubborn squirrel, aren't you?... All right, but be careful." Illana helped Keran to stand. "Lean against my shoulder."

Keran only shook his head in response.

"There is no shame in accepting help," sighed the dormouse, walking alongside him. "Or asking for it, when you are weak and hurt. No one is perfect."

"But how can you become strong, if you let others, to do everything for you?" responded the young squirrel before thinking. Only then he realized, how sad was Illana's voice. They already walked into the main room of healer's house, so Keran paused to lay down on his bed, and spoke more quietly.

"Ehm… Something wrong? It is because of Kerya? Or…"

"I'm all right," dormouse voice was firm again. "Maybe a bit frustrated. Excuse me for my words, but your sister can really stretch beast's patience. Now, wait for a second, please. I will just invite Twirgle inside, and return to work on your ear."

Keran's eyes followed the dormouse, as she walked out. The young squirrel had little experience in discerning another beasts' feelings, but even he could tell, that something was far from all right. Kinta always tried to keep her composure in front of the children, but more than once Keran seen his mother silently crying after another fight between them, when she thought, that no one is looking. Maybe Illana was like her? And thinking of the mother… Now, that he had time to think, Keran doubted that Kerya was asked to say what she said. Though a loner by the nature, for almost as long, as her son remembered himself, Kinta never demonstrated any disrespect for neighboring beasts. And while she rarely showed any warm feelings for her younger child, paying no attention to his plight was unlike her… Or was it? Keran grit his teeth, when unpleasant memories flooded his mind. His father, Tyan Rustfur left their solitary treehouse when Keran was only five seasons old – young squirrel barely remembered him. Tyan vowed to return when one season will pass, he gave a solemn oath, kneeling before his crying son – Keran remembered this scene clearly even now – but he never said, why, or to where he was leaving… And never returned. Since then, Kinta was growing colder and harsher to her younger child with each new season. Keran didn't know why, and lately stopped to even care, spending most of his time in the woods, away from his unhospitable hearth…

Consumed by his somber thoughts, the squirrelkid barely noticed, when Illana returned and started treating his wound. The process was more than a bit painful, but he all but ignored it. Only when healer's work was done, Keran turned to her.

"I will repay you for your kindness, as soon, as I will be able to work, Illa… ehm, Miss Illana."

"You can call me simply Illana. And I'm not doing this for payment, so, please, stop talking about it."

"All right… but I'm still going to repay you. Surely, you could find a use for a pair of strong paws, could you?"

"You aren't only too rash for your own good, you also are too stubborn, kid," Illana shook her head.

"I'm not a kid!" retorted Keran sharply. "No more! Kids don't pay their debts. I do. Starting with this one…"

"Sorry," despite her sullen mood, the dormouse barely held back the smile. "I forgot this. But surely, you will need to eat more, if you don't want to be mistaken for a scrawny kid. I left Twirgle cooking pancakes, so let's come to the dinner table."

The young squirrel didn't need a second invitation. Soon, both of them were sitting at Illana's kitchen, chewing hot pancakes and washing them down with herb tea. However, neither beast eat much, so Twirgle even began casting troubled looks at them, wondering if they found his simple dish lacking.

"Do not worry, Twirgle," Illana noticed, that her old friend feels himself uneasy, and smiled to him. "I'm simply not very hungry. Keran, even if you have no appetite, you should eat, it will help you to recover fully and quickly."

"Yeah…" mumbled Keran absently. "You said, that Terys volunteered to get help. And when he will return? I really want to talk with him."

"Help, you say?" Twirgle suddenly became interested. "But for what?"

"For healing Aulbek," Illana's voice was bland.

"For healing?.. But… ehrm… don't th… but why?"

"Because I need help. And as I said, there is no shame in accepting help, when you need it," answered the dormouse squinting at Keran. "Particularly, when beast's life is at stake."

"Yes, but will she agree to help, after all that happened?"

There was a brief silence.

"Hey, what's going on?" Keran's youthful curiosity quickly overcame his sense of tact.

"Kid, are you really so clueless?" grumbled the hedgehog. "When you live with the walking nest of gossip and rumors, that is your foul-mouthed sister, you ought to hear something."

"I'm not talking with her!" the squirrel was fuming with anger. "And I'm not a kid!"

"Not a kid, you say? Shouldn't you know better than to poke your nose in others' affairs then, yes?"

"Twirgle, please," Illana shook her head, and continued weakly. "Everybeast around already knows everything. And I am not keeping secrets about my life. So, Keran, if you want, I can tell you the story of my late father, Rinta, and me, though it is hardly as exciting or interesting, as you might imagine."

However curious the squirrel was, he also was bright enough to realize, that this theme is painful for the dormouse.

"I'm feeling not too good – not good enough for the long stories. A bit of tranquil rest on the fresh night air – that's what I need now."

"As you wish," Illana looked at the dark windows and smiled sadly. "Just don't become too tranquil, or gnats will suck you dry."

After Keran stumbled out of the kitchen in awkward silence, Illana buried her face in the paws. She didn't weep – she hadn't wept even once, after parting with her dibbunhood – but she wanted to.

5


	6. The two professionals

6. The two professionals

"Must… walk… Find… Rinta…" whispered Terys half-consciously, just before suddenly snapping out of his troubled dreams. As usual, his awakening was instant and complete, without even a moment of drowsiness. The otter opened his eyes, and found himself lying on a hard couch in some dark place. Terys had no idea, how, or when he got here – his memories after encounter with the female weasel, were, putting it mildly, blurred. At least, he wasn't tied, and it seemed, that somebeast changed the bandage on his left paw. Exhaustion and vertigo were gone – instead he was a bit frozen, even despite his soft fur, and more than a bit hungry. Still, the otter lied still for some time, listening for any suspicious sounds and gathering his thoughts. Rinta, the beast, that he sought, was dead – that he remembered clearly. And so, Aulbek likely was as good as dead too… Maybe he just blew a chance of his lifetime… At this point, Terys told himself to stop reflecting and start concentrating on his surroundings. After otter's keen ears confirmed, that there was nobeast around, he slowly sat on the couch. Weasel's sharp smell was all around him – he surely was in the house of the maid, who almost fell to his blade. Though, most likely, that was not the house, but the burrow, judging by the stale air, the earthen floor, and the total darkness. Total darkness? Now, when his eyes adapted to it, Terys noticed very weak glimmers of light to the left from him. He rose, and slowly, cautiously walked in that direction, with forepaws outstretched forward, to avoid stumbling into furniture, or some other noisy accident. Soon otter's claws touched a wooden door – light, that he noticed, was breaking through tiny slits between its planks. He attentively listened again – and again it seemed, that there was nobeast around. Terys sighed silently, removed the bar and then opened the door with one sharp move. Warrior's eyes were almost squeezed, but the bright light still blinded him for a second – it was almost noon, and the sun shed its rays straight into his face. Unsurprisingly, Terys slept for a whole day and a night – if his sleep lasted for only one day, or course. Otter looked around – he indeed was standing in the door of the burrow, dug into the small hillside. He stepped aside, to not obscure the light, and examined burrow's insides. This dwelling was quite primitive, with earthen walls, crude open hearth, and rough, poorly made, wooden furnishing. Surprisingly, it was as clean and tidy, as anyone could hope to make it. To Terys such desperate neatness clearly spoke of the crushing poverty, which yet failed to break the spirit of the beast who lived there. Only on the large table in the room's center the otter noticed something like grime – but then came the realization, that it was words, written by a piece of charcoal. Reading them took some time – the weasel female had the most terrible handwriting.

"_I'll try to treat your Aul-what-was-his-name. Can't wait. Left some food for you in locker. Took all with me – you can leave, there's nothing valuable to guard here. _

_Tiani Snowdrop" _

Terys stared at the inscription incredulously. Could the old fox really take an apprentice not from her own kin? Though maybe this one could… Illana's tale surfaced again in otter's head.

"…Please, wait for a second, Terys. There is one thing you must know first. The healer I spoke about is the old fox, named Rinta. I don't think, that she would agree to help us."

"Even if a generous payment will be offered, Miss Illana? Maybe some silver trinkets could change her mind. I do not doubt your judgement, but most foxes are greedy."

The dormouse shook her head.

"It is not about payment. She holds a personal grudge against us. Against my family. It started, when I was just a dibbun. My father, Elam Stiches, was a sole true healer in the entire countryside, before this fox showed up. She came to the village in the late autumn – a lone, tired beast – and asked to let her stay for a winter. Villagers accepted her, even though Irta, and some of the others objected to sheltering a vermin. Northlands winters are cruel to lone travelers – forcing a weak female to leave, when a winter is at the doors, would have been a death sentence. And in return the vixen offered her services as a healer – for she was one. My father started to dislike her even before they first met. He always was stern and straightforward, rarely bothering even to console a patient, or alleviate his fears. Beasts respected him, but rarely liked. Rinta… Well, she was a wandering vixen. And she used tricks of the trade, common for her kind – so-called "fox magic" to enhance her reputation, selling of the "love potions" and other such trash to fill her larder. Suffice to say, "charlatan" was mildest name my father ever called her. But she wasn't a charlatan. Or not only it. She indeed was able to cure almost anything, short of death. Many beasts began to like her, because of her obliging attitude and willingness to help. Even when the winter passed, nobody even thought about ordering her to leave. Only father always said, that it was only a sham, to gain our trust. Back then, I believed, that it was righteous indignation… and now I simply don't know, what really was going on in his head. And then, the story with Nettlebranch's footpaw happened. Nettlebranch was a young and reckless rabbit then – too reckless for his own good. While being far away in the forest with his equally air-headed comrades, he made some stupid bet, imagining that he could jump as good, as any hare. He lost, and mangled his own footpaw horribly in the process. When they managed to carry him into the village, the wound already began to fester. Rinta said that only the amputation could save his life. My father at this time left to visit our friends, and arrange for my future wedding, I was with him, and other beasts knew nothing about such serious wounds, so they agreed with the vixen without argument. Then we returned, with my fiancé, Dansten – like many father's friends, he was a bit of a healer, but his real talent lied in knowledge of nearly every useful herb in the Northlands. But I digress… Father was furious, when he learned the news. He accused Rinta in neglecting her duty as a doctor. He said, that Nettlebranch footpaw could be saved. He and Dansten forced many beasts to listen… Nettlebranch himself agreed with them, as well, as his parents too, and Irta, it seems, never really trusted the vixen. And so, Rinta was exiled and said to never return to our wood, under the threat of death. Later, I heard, that she settled in a desolate area not so far from here – she was too old to travel again, I think."

Illana sighed, before resuming the sad tale, but Terys interrupted her.

"But do I understand correctly, that both Elam and Dansten are dead now?"

"Yes," nodded the dormouse slowly.

"Then refusing to help us is pretty much pointless for her, don't you think? Her enemies already are in the Dark Forest, and even if she still hates your entire family, it will be foolish for her to refuse to profit from your inability to save this weasel. Please, do not take offence Miss Illana, I'm just outlining the arguments, that could persuade the vixen…"

Clearly audible grumble in his stomach crudely interrupted Terys' memories. Surprise forced him to forgot, how hungry he was. The otter quickly searched the locker, mentioned in weasel's message. There he found a small bag of bread-crumbs, and his own saber, casually shoved inside, alongside with the belt and flask, that was filled with water again. Terys frowned. He had no particular esteem for his weapons, viewing them as simple tools, but throwing the weapon where it is hard to access quickly… Female, who lived alone in the woods should have been smarter than that, in his opinion. The otter shrugged and fastened his belt. His injured paw was better now – it seemed, that this Tiani really knew, how to treat wounds. Terys walked out and sat on the threshold – he disliked eating on the move, and now, when he did all could, there was no reason to rush.

Bread proved to be hard as a stone. The otter even wondered, if it is older, than the weasel herself. But, as the veteran traveler, he was accustomed to eating things, which couldn't even be called food without insulting all real foods everywhere. So, he found a small stone just outside of the burrow, sat on it, and began to gnaw.

Terys survived sixty or so seasons of almost constant fighting, because he remained alert and watchful, even when not expecting a danger. This time, he also managed to hear somebeast's approach long before he strode out of nearby bushes. Granted, this beast wasn't trying to hide, walking at the steady pace and merrily, but out-of-tune whistling some melody. This relieved Terys a little – bandits and thieves rarely were so careless, but the otter rarely took unnecessary risks. This part of the forests was almost uninhabited, as far, as he knew – and so, anyone could be met here. He cast a few quick glances around, seeking a suitable cover to hide, and, seeing nothing of the sort, calmly continued eating. The otter would have preferred to remain unseen, until taking a look at the approaching beast, but as it wasn't possible, he decided to pull on the confident façade. Terys regretted his choice as soon, as the stranger appeared before the burrow.

The famous otter warrior had seen numberless ferrets during his life, though mostly on the battlefield. But even he could count meetings with specimens as impressive, as one who stood here, on a single paw. This ferret was noticeably taller than him, and wider in the shoulders, with lustrous golden-brown fur and immaculately white mask. Terys didn't even need to look at the slightly curved saber with basket hilt, which hung from ferret's belt, or at the talons of some predatory bird, made into his necklace, or at the shirt, chafed as from wearing a breastplate over it, to understand, that he faces a dangerous creature. The fluid grace of ferret's moves said enough.

Upon seeing the otter, the swordsbeast stopped and ceased his whistling. Two pairs of brown eyes met each other. Terys' face was blank and emotionless, ferret looked puzzled a little. The vermin was first to break the silence:

"Hey, riverdog, I seek a vixen healer here. One named Rinta. Didn't ya see her, by the chance? Say, when she patched your paw, or at any other time?"

Terys seemed supremely indifferent.

"You are late. Rinta died a season ago. Her apprentice helped me, but now she have important matters to attend away from here. I could convey your words to her, if you want."

"How tragic," despite his words, ferret's voice remained jovial. "Too bad, but I need the old brushtail, and no one else, ya know. Some loose-tongued riverrats spilled the beans about her lair, and ya know, this looks just like the place they were babblin' about."

"Look around," Terys allowed a shade of contempt to color his voice. "If she yet lives, there must be her footprints and scent."

The ferret stared at him suspiciously. His eyes were a bit similar to his fur in color – bright and beautiful golden-brown. Terys returned the stare, cold and confident as ever on the outside.

Confidence was his best defense now – the otter wouldn't bet on himself, if things will come to blows. But the vermin failed to penetrate his bluff. He put down his heavy shoulder bag – Terys heard metal clang from within – and quickly searched around, keeping his distance from the otter all the time. The otter calmly continued to eat, pretending to not even look at him.

"Hellsteeth!" cursed the ferret finally. "Hey, ruddertail, d'you know, where's the vixen buried?"

"No. Why you need to know."

"Want to piss on her grave," smiled the ferret. "Makin' a hook to here, I lost a precious tenday of my life, and looks like the bitch tricked me!"

Terys tensed. He had less and less doubt, that purposes of ferret's search for Rinta were sinister to say the least.

"You have bad manners. Do you think, that she died only to deprive you of your bounty?"

"Heya, looks who's speakin'!" the ferret smiled, utterly unfazed. "Ya must be pretty seedy guy yourself, goin' to vermin in the middle of nowhere for healing."

"Maybe. But I'm not going to help a killer like you. I suggest you to go away peacefully."

The ferret straightened. He was still smiling, but Terys noticed, that vermin's eyes narrowed.

"Now, who have bad manners? Killer! That's kinda rude, ya know? I prefer to be named mercenary, or, say, bounty hunter. Have some respect, riverdog."

"Yes, I suppose I should have some respect for the ferret, who wields the saber with old Salamandastron insignia, and obviously isn't rich or influential enough to buy or receive as a gift such rare trophy. Make no mistake, I can recognize a master swordsbeast, when I see one. As well, as a killer," coldly responded the otter.

For a moment, the ferret was astonished. The only Salamandasron insignia, which he hadn't removed from his saber, was etched on the inside of its basket pawguard! Such incredible perception! And… the vermin realized this only now, but he, on the contrary, couldn't really say anything about his possible opponent. The otter was wounded, yes… but his almost relaxed pose and the blank face didn't betray any weakness. The ferret could only guess about his skill and experience, but judging by countless scars, they were ought to be impressive. Trying to hide the sudden sting of fear, he giggled.

"Ya sure have sharp eyes. And iron balls, to speak with me like that."

Terys didn't miss an uncertainty, which was hidden behind the amusement.

"I suggest you the second and the last time to go away. Search for the grave, if you must, it must be somewhere nearby. Then leave."

The ferret scratched his chin.

"I'm not the beast who picks fights for no reason. But watch yer tongue, riverdog. Ya might be good, but ya must be Terys the Swiftdeath to get me with that toothpick of yours."

Despite his words, ferret cautiously backed off, watching the otter all the time, and picked up his bag

"And who you are, to warn me?"

"Name's Wenelt. Called The Sawteeth sometimes."

And the ferret paced away. Terys waited for him for almost an hour, this time carefully picking a place for an ambush, but, to his surprise, the vermin didn't return after donning its armor. Then the otter weighted his chances. The warrior had no tolerance and very little mercy for the career killers and bounty hunters. But he was almost unarmed and still unfit for the real fight. However, after returning to Illana's house for his arsenal, there was no chance to catch this Wenelt's trail again. In the end, Terys decided to repay the ferret in kind – by leaving him be this time. He never learned, how irritated was Wenelt, who hid and waited for him until the next sunrise, expecting the pursuit, and, in turn intending to ambush the otter, because of this decision…

4


	7. Memories from the darkness

7. Memories from the darkness.

Sharp pain jolted through Aulbek's body, and the weasel shuddered in convulsions. These thrice damned foxes… his capture… Was it a nightmare again? Or reality?

"Does it matter?" smiled the large fox. "Your pain is real, isn't it?"

Aulbek tried to scream, but the scream got stuck in his parched throat. The face was Delgor's, but the voice was Raulak's! No! He gathered all his strength, trying to burst the ropes.

"Hah! Once a weakling, always a weakling! You are pathetic, brother!"

"Sh… shut up! You… you cannot be here! You cannot catch me! Cannot! I got away from you, bastards!"

"Is that so?" new voice was cold and hoarse. "Did you forget something? We are no easier to escape from that your own shadow, kid. I see, you hadn't learned your lessons. Too bad, as now is the time to separate chaff from the wheat in our family."

The graying weasel shrugged and raised his sword. Aulbek shut his eyes, waiting for the deathblow. And it came.

Illana shuddered slightly, looking at Aulbek's body. Did his eyelids just moved, or it was her imagination. Now, when the bandages were carefully removed, the young weasel looked horrible. She didn't even want to imagine the pain, he would have felt, if he was awake. The dormouse felt herself sick from mere sight of such wounds. Aulbek's footpaws looked like there was no bones in them anymore… Illana was barely keeping her calm demeanor.

On the contrary, the weaselmaid before her seemed supremely unimpressed by the terrible injuries. She probed Aulbek's limbs, trying to find all cracks and fractures with cold, professional accuracy, showing no more emotions, as if her fingers was touching not a bloodied flesh of a living beast, but a piece of dough.

Finally, she straightened.

"For all this skinny body, he surely has the stamina of a great wolf. Maybe he even could survive an operation…"

"So can you did it, Tiani? Can you heal him?" quickly asked Illana.

"Maybe. He's lucky – it seems he has no incurable wounds. But we need to treat his broken bones right now, and to do it perfectly! There is too much fractures – if the bones will begin to grow together in the wrong ways, he will be crippled for the rest of his life. Of course, he is so weak now, that he could die in the process… But I will try. Yes, I will try."

"I couldn't thank you enough for your kindness," the dormouse bowed her head. "If he will live, you can ask whatever you want in reward."

"Shove your thanks back down your throat! They worth less than snow in the middle of winter," hissed Tiani in the sudden fit of anger. "And I don't care about your reward. I'll accept none from Elam's daughter, anyway. I'm doing it only to demonstrate, that Rinta's teachings are as greater than your family's pathetic healing skills, as a mountain is greater than an anthill!"

Illana backed off for a moment, almost physically repelled by weasel's furious words, but regained her nerve almost instantly, and looked into the eyes of other female. For a moment, the weasel and the dormouse exchanged glares. They were of approximately same height, but otherwise completely unlike each other in appearance. Illana was plump, with the soft, thick coat, and Tiani was wiry, with tight knots of muscles easily noticeable under the short fur. Both, however looked at each other with equal rage. Illana broke tense silence first:

"I don't care about petty things like reputation or fame. I don't have them, anyway. Beasts call me a fraud healer in the face, how can admission of your superiority be worse than that? I don't care for what reason you will help Aulbek, too. I care only about healing and saving lives. And I don't know what I will do to you, if this life wouldn't be saved because of the grudge, that one deadbeast held against another!"

"That's the spirit!" suddenly sneered Tiani in return. "Then gather your tools and medicines, we begin our work now!"

"We?"

"Don't pretend to have less brains than a snail, I need assistance for such difficult task. Hurry up, and do exactly as I say if you want this youngbeast to live!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Aulbek was drowning in dark, viscous sea of memories. Some beasts couldn't remember their nightmares after awakening. The young weasel wasn't so lucky. No matter how much he desired to forget, but was unable to do so. He didn't want to remember, but each nightmare dream reminded him of the all too real nightmare that he left behind. And pulled him back in it…

…He needed air! A strong paw was pressed against his neck, pinning him to a stone wall, strangling him, suffocating him, crushing life out of him. Paw of a fully grown beast, too big, too strong to wrestle away.

"Hellgates," snarled Raulak. "Why we even need a snot-nosed wretch like you?"

The larger weasel slammed his knee into Aulbek's stomach. The blow wasn't nearly as strong, as it could be, but the dibbun still was almost paralyzed by pain. He limped in merciless grasp, ceasing his futile struggle.

"See? You cannot even tolerate pain," grinned Raulak. Torturing his younger brother seemingly never ceased to amuse him. But now he was already tired. His grasp even loosened a bit, allowing Aulbek to inhale. The dibbun didn't move, however.

"_Don't fight… It's useless… Let him gloat a little more and he will leave…As always…" _whispered his inner voice. And maybe Aulbek would have listened to it – if Raulak wouldn't forget caution for a moment and wouldn't lower his head almost to brother's face to spit another taunt. Aulbek moved with speed, quite astounding for a half-unconscious dibbun, aiming his bite straight at the pulsating vein on Raulak's neck. Most beast wouldn't managed to react in time to his attack. But the older weasel inherited some of father's reflexes and began his combat training almost as soon as he began to walk. He jerked his head back almost in time – and almost quickly enough. Instead of his throat, Aulbek's teeth clenched on his cheek.

Raulak screamed. He was no stranger to pain, but shock from the savage attack blew away his self-control for a first moment. He instinctively tried to shake off his brother, and that was a big mistake. Though small, Aulbek already had the deadly bite of a true weasel – and once his teeth sunk in prey's flesh, not even death could unlock them. When he was hurled through the air like a rag doll, his jaws weren't torn open – much unlike skin on Raulak's face. Spray of blood showered the stone floor, as dibbun's body slammed into the opposite wall. Raulak howled, clutching his cheek – or, more accurately the place, where it used to be. How? How this little bastard managed to do this to him? His howl turned into the wild yell of fury, as he seen Aulbek trying to rise. With all his might he slammed the footpaw into the younger weasel's face. Force of the vicious kick literally launched Aulbek in the air. Something crackled. Still yelling, Raulak kicked his brother again, sending him rolling.

"You! You… you will pay for this! I will strangle you with your own guts!" a curved dagger flashed in the sickly dim light.

"_I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die!"_ this single thought was pounding frantically in Aulbek's head in tact with his madly beating heart. Mouth full of his own and Raulak's blood, overwhelmed by pain and dizziness, he still tried to move, to rise, to run – but his body disobeyed him.

Incredibly, death didn't come. Aulbek heard, as Raulak screamed again and some metal weapon clanged on the floor. When the dibbun finally managed to focus his eyes for a moment, he realized, that his hated brother is pressed against the wall, trying to clutch his right wrist and face at the same time. And holding him at the swordpoint was… Aulbek's heart sunk again. He feared all of his older brothers. But not even Krefket, infamous for his mad fits of rage, or Farghash, who, according to the rumors, enjoyed watching beasts die more than anything else, invoked such dread as Marruch, standing before him now.

"Did you forger the orders of our father, Raulak?" weasel's words were monotonous and emotionless, as if he was reciting some incredibly dull text. As far, as Aulbek could say, Marruch never raised his voice or cursed. And never demonstrated his feelings in any other way. If he, of course, possessed them at all. "Or are they no longer the law for you?"

"T… this fucking wretch maimed me!"

"As far, as I had seen, he was only defending himself. And I wouldn't hesitate to testify this, brother."

"You bastard!"

"You should be more grateful to me. I saved your life, after all. Our father would have skinned and dismembered you bit by bit, over the course of the next season, to make an example for those, who may want to disobey him," blood dripping profusely from Raulak's shredded face smeared the flat of Marruch's blade, as he ticked brother's neck with the swordpoint. "Because we are forbidden from killing or crippling each other. So, I advise you to keep the close watch over little Aulbek's well-being from now on – unless you want to be executed for killing him in revenge. Or framed for killing him, and then executed. Even a lowlife like you could be dangerous, so, some of our siblings might decide to remove the threat preventively. Though, I think, you do not worth the effort."

Despite the pain, Raulak already regained his composure:

"If you want to provoke me, learn how to make insults first, you walking codfish! Now, out of my way! I need to see the healer!"

"As you wish," the passionless mustelid lowered his sword and stepped aside. Without wasting the time on threats or hateful glares, Raulak rushed down the corridor. And Marruch turned to his dibbun brother. Be Aulbek less consumed by pain, he would have shuddered under his unblinking gaze. Marruch was of average height and average built, with mottled gray-brown fur, typical for their clan and bland face, neither attractive, nor ugly. Only one his feature was standing out – pale, almost completely colorless eyes. Most of the times they weren't fixed on anything in particular, as if their owner was staring into space absent-mindedly. However, there was little, that could escape them. Allegedly, Marruch's was able to knock aside flying javelins, still without paying any noticeable attention. And when his attention to somebeast was noticeable, even the bravest warriors couldn't help but feel a cold shiver of fear. Even among his brothers, Marruch was renowned for ability to kill in the cold blood, as well, as for propensity to hold grudges forever. And, worst of all, other beasts could only guess, if he's already decided their fate – the white-eyed weasel rarely bothered to show his displeasure in any other way than killing.

"That was a very fast move, young one," Marruch took out a piece of cloth and began meticulously wiping blood from his sword. "You have good reflexes. Good instincts, too. Father would be proud, if he would have seen it. And our brothers would be wary. You better be cautious from now on. Or some unfortunate accident may happen."

And then Marruch turned and walked away, paying no more heed to the dibbun, writhing in blood on the floor. Aulbek barely heard him. Mind-numbing waves of pain pulsated through both his head and body. The weasel tried to rise, but vertigo and nausea crushed his feeble attempt as soon, as he managed to stand on all fours. He spat out broken lower canine, and slumped on the floor again. Corridor's walls seemed to whirl around Aulbek, and every attempt to do anything but curl into a ball only intensified agony caused by the blow to his stomach. Blood flowed freely from his squashed nose, but he barely noticed it, until it literally formed a small pool. The cold, moist floor chilled the dibbun to the bones. Aulbek understood, that he shouldn't lie here, that he must get to his room, where a warm hearth, and, maybe, someone to send for the healer, waited, but all strength left him. The weasel tried to crawl, but to no avail. His room was so close… and still unreachable. Blood was everywhere, covering his face, clouding his vision. So much blood… He didn't notice, when the bitter tears of helplessness mixed with it. Is he going to die here? Is he indeed too weak to live?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

There was so much blood around, that Illana held back sickness and nausea only with supreme effort of will. How a beast could remain alive after such bleeding? Treating Aulbek's wounds three days ago wasn't half as bad – even though Tiani was doing most of the work this time. Illana managed to keep her paws from trembling, but facial expression gave these feelings away, and the weasel snarled, still remaining concentrated on the work:

"What's up? Are you thinking I'm doing something wrong?"

The dormouse flinched, when two halves of broken bone rejoined with a clearly audible sound.

"N-no. It's nothing."

"Or are you too weak of stomach for our work?" grinned Tiani. "What kind of healer you are? I heard…"

"Shut your mouth and keep working." Illana's voice instantly became cold, as she forced herself to fix eyes on the patient. "There is no time for chatting."

Weasel's grin widened even more.

"Indeed, there is a time to fix his fingers. And that is the most difficult part – if you want him to ever move these paws again…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Aulbek was a little surprised, finding himself in his own bed upon awakening. It seemed, that somebeast found his unconscious body in the corridor, and bothered to drag him here… and to wash blood from his fur… and to cover his still-throbbing head with a cold compress… and to rekindle fire in the hearth… and to light the oil lamp… The dibbun weasel suddenly felt a bout of fear. He was only about six or seven seasons old, but this was quite enough to learn, that apparent kindness usually is even more dangerous than open hostility. Who could have done all of this? A slave? Aulbek was pretty sure, that any of the slaves would have gladly left him to die.

A warrior or an overseer? They rather would carry him to a healer, than to his room. Then one of his relatives? This thought wasn't comforting at all. What could he demand in return? Then dibbun's ears suddenly caught sounds of a quiet snore. Somebeast was in his room. Slowly and cautiously, Aulbek raised his head from the pillows, surrounding it. Then the cruel grin began to distort mustelid's mouth… at least until the pain shot through his bruised gums and aching jaws. Luckily, the lower jaw itself seemed intact… Still the weasel realized, that yelling in such condition isn't very smart, so he hissed furiously instead:

"Hey, you, slave! That's my room! What in the Hellgates are you doing here?"

Though the words weren't really loud, the old mouse awaked immediately and opened his eyes only to meet Aulbek's hateful glare.

"You are awake, at last. I thought…" despite being suddenly pulled out of his sleep, the woodlander instantly gathered his wits, and responded calmly, as if he just closed his eyes for a moment.

"I don't care what you thought!" suddenly a new thought visited young vermin's head. "Better bring me some water!"

The small head fell on the pillows. Damn! How he hated the geezer! While his brothers were training under best weapon masters to become true fighters, he was stuck with this scurvy slave, studying stupid things, like writing and counting. Raulak didn't forget to enlighten the younger brother, why their father decided so: at birth, Aulbek seemed weak and sickly – hardly a beast who could grow strong and fit for battle. Usually, such dibbuns were considered a waste of food… but father chose to leave him alive. To find some use for the useless offspring. And his word was the law. And now, his youngest son was practicing with quill and paper instead of sword and bow. And hating it with passion. How he wanted to become stronger! Ever since Raulak told him the truth, all of Aulbek's free time was dedicated to exercises – lifting weights, pulling up, jumping, running until he was barely able to stand. But how could this be equal to the real fulltime weapon training? And how he wanted to beat up the moldy old mouse! But father explicitly forbidden it… and promised a punishment for slow learning, too. And any beast in the clan, who was old enough to speak, knew better, than to risk his wrath. So, shirking from mouse's lessons was out of the question. Speaking about the mouse…

"Here, your water."

Aulbek attempted to sit up in the bed, but vertigo returned immediately, and he slumped back down. The mouse mumbled something incomprehensible under his nose, and reached out with his paw, to prop weasel's head up, so that he could drink without spilling everything. A burst of sudden rage flashed through Aulbek's mind and the mustelid furiously swung his claws, knocking the wooden cup from mouse's paw. Water splashed on the floor and on the blanket, but mostly on the woodlander's robe.

"I'm not dead yet, Bertram!" screaming in rage, the weasel called the unlucky mentor by the name, forgetting his habit of using all kinds of derogatory words, from "slave" to "meatchunk" instead of it. He also forgot his condition – but torturous spasms in the stomach, pain ringing in his head, and new wave of dizziness immediately reminded him about it. The mouse was saying something, but Aulbek didn't listen – he tried to drag himself into a sitting position again and again, but to no avail. Reckless attempts only heightened his suffering. Soon, the mustelid was forced to curl into a ball, as the burning pain in his belly became unbearable. Tears blurred weasel's vision, even as he hopelessly tried to stop them. Crying was the worst sign of weakness… of being helpless. He couldn't admit such things before the slave, much less before this accursed mouse! But he couldn't help it… The dibbun felt woodlander's paws touching him, and shivered in hatred and self-loathing.

"Don't move. You are only hurting yourself." Bertram gathered the pillows, so, that the little weasel could rest on them in a half-sitting position, and tried to move him carefully, but that wasn't his brightest idea. Gathering the last ounces of strength, Aulbek twisted his long neck and viciously bit into mouse's paw. For an endlessly long moment both beasts froze. The weasel had no mercy on his sore jaws – remaining fangs dug deep into Bertram's flesh, and his own vision went black for a moment from terrible pain. But the mouse remained still. And then, Aulbek realized what he's just done.

"_I disobeyed father's words!"_

But before he could do anything, Bertram spoke. His voice was harsh, but level and only slight strain in it betrayed old beast's pain.

"Would you rather die, than accept help?" mouse's tone softened slightly, as the grip of weasel's teeth slackened. "Please. Don't try to jump over your head."

"I… I…" presence of spirit finally left Aulbek. Fear, pain, helplessness, humiliation, loneliness – all of that proved to be too much for the dibbun, and he shuddered from sobs. Tears flowed freely, mixing with mouse's blood and his own blood from bleeding mouth. As the small body went limp, Bertram held it close to himself in a gentle, but surprisingly firm embrace, ignoring pain in the bitten paw.

"Shhhh… No need to talk. I understand… I know it all."

The little weasel wept and wept, as if all tears that he held back during all miserable seasons of his life were finally coming out. It was so good to be comforted… to be cared for… Snuggled up to Bertram, he forgot everything, that he ever learned about treachery, which hid behind every act of seeming kindness. He didn't want to remember it. Even bitter feelings towards the mouse disappeared for a moment. When Aulbek begin to calm down, he was feeling much better – even the pain subsided now, as if tears washed it out. Finally, Bertram lowered his small form back on the bed.

"Wait a little. I must get water and some cloth, to clean up all this blood."

He rose to his footpaws to leave, but weasel's weak voice stopped him.

"P... please, don't tell anyone… I'll… I'll do what… whatever you…"

"No need for this," the mouse was facing the door, so Aulbek couldn't see his expression. "You aren't the one to blame. Just rest, and don't try to hurt yourself even more. Sorry, but I cannot get you to the healers. Rutah is in charge there, and according to the gossip, he and Raulak were teaming up lately. They could arrange some "accident"… so it is better for you to remain here."

And he walked out of the room, leaving his unwilling pupil dumbfounded. Helping someone, and not expecting something in return? Refusing the perfect chance to blackmail? And acting, as if he wasn't one of the masters? Aulbek was sure, that every captive in this dark realm hates them. Of course, Bertram was father's favored slave, who eat well, wore semi-decent garments, and couldn't be abused by anyone but father… and who could be slowly tortured to death after a slightest mistake. Father was rightfully called the Unforgiving One… The little weasel shuddered. Despite all of his pride and bravado, he would have done anything just to avoid father's wrath. For this beast, whose name his own sons avoided like a curse, was the warlord and the undisputed ruler, the king on the throne of bones, and the master of every beast's life within his reach. Aulbek heard about beasts, who killed themselves, instead of going to face his judgment, and they were battle-scarred veterans, inured to suffering. Dibbun's thoughts returned to the mouse teacher. He definitely was smart enough to understand the feelings of his pupil. Why, then, he hadn't tried to exploit them yet? As far, as Aulbek remembered, Bertram never heard from him even a single good word, never seen even a smallest help. Surely, the mouse should hate him as much, as he hated the old beast. So why?

These thoughts were interrupted by Bertram's return. The weasel was silent, while his unexpected savior cleaned his face gently and applied a new compress to his head. The mouse also brought a cup of water again, so that he finally could drink.

"Be cautious. Don't spill it again."

Aulbek cast a wary glance at him, and put the half-empty cup aside.

"But why?" asked the weasel suddenly - suddenly even for himself.

"Why?"

"Why you are doing all of this?" reluctantly clarified Aulbek after a long pause.

"Do you think, that if I have some secret reason, if I want to use you, you need only to ask, and I'll reveal it?" sighed Bertram. "That I wouldn't lie to you?"

The little weasel blushed. The mouse had seen his suspicions with ease!

"But I fear, there is no secret," continued Bertram. "I just cannot stand and do nothing when dibbuns suffer – that's all."

"But… don't you hate us?"

The old mouse shrugged slowly, and sat on a nearby chair.

"You know… I didn't hate anybeast, before meeting with your family. Maybe you would call me weak and soft… maybe I am weak and soft. But when I found you in the corridor, beaten and bleeding, I seen not the offspring of the worst villain to ever defile this land, but the dibbun in pain," weak smile stretched the corners of his lips. "Now, we are even. You dared to defy orders of your father, I dared to insult him."

Aulbek couldn't believe his ears. Other day, he would have mocked and ridiculed the old beast for his stupidity, but crying on his shoulder changed things quite a bit… well, and he was too exhausted anyway. So he just went silent, trying to stomach mouse's words.

"I hate all of this," whispered the weasel finally.

"What?"

"You. Myself. Being weak."

"There is no shame in accepting, that you still are too young. That you aren't the strongest."

"What you could know about this?" Aulbek's quiet voice was bitter. "You're slave! You're too weak to even try and escape."

"I tried," simply said Bertram. "Twice. Unfortunately, I'm too valuable to be executed, or crippled. But your father could be very… inventive when he wants to punish someone, while keeping them alive, whole and conscious all the time. Look closely."

With these words he stretched up the sleeve of his robe. Even Aulbek barely held a gasp, at the sight: from shoulder to elbow, mouse's paw was covered by chaotic pattern, made of countless small scars! There was almost no fur on it – only horrible mess of red and white tissue.

"That's far from the worst thing that was done to me. And yet, if I only had seen the chance, I would have tried to escape again. But there is no chance. And there is no sense in trying to break the wall with your head. Because you will only break your head."

Aulbek went silent again. Damned mouse was right! But he hated to accept it, too.

"But what can I do?" whispered he finally.

"For now, you can sleep. You can rest and regain your health. I will keep watch here – even your brothers wouldn't try anything with me around. You need to rest."

Indeed, Aulbek felt himself so tired… tired of everything. Bertram's words were true.

"You'll watch over me?" whispered the little weasel, closing his eyes.

"Yes. Sleep well. I will watch over you…"

Maybe Bertram said something else, but Aulbek didn't hear him – he was already drifting to the land of dreams.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"At last," Tiani took a piece of clean cloth, and wiped the sweat from her forehead.

"He will live?" Illana looked at Aulbek's prostrate body, covered in bandages from head to toes.

"I cannot believe, that he's still breathing," Tiani was quiet and serious this time. "Surely, this guy has more lives than a wildcat. If Fate will be merciful to him, one day he will walk again. Some of the sinews ought to be torn, so I'm not sure, if all of his fingers could move, though… And he will be as scarred, as your crazy otter friend, though. But… isn't it said, that battle scars adorns the male?"

Illana sighed in relief.

"I cannot believe this. You really did it!"

"I too," the weaselmaid smiled weakly. "I too can't believe."

Suddenly, she swayed, and barely managed to lean against the table before falling.

"Are you all right?" Illana rushed to her with a look of worry on her face, but Tiani pushed her aside, her demeanor changed in an instant

"I could care for myself, dormouse! I'm just a bit tired. So you better give me some decent bed."

"There is no need to be so…"

"Aaaah, shut your trap," the weasel yawned loudly. "I'm tired of you. Can you stop to pester me, and just watch over him while I sleep? Silently?"

Illana only shook her head in silent disapproval, and turned, to prepare the bed for Tiani. But though she tried to frown, a smile lit up her face instead.

"Yes. I will watch over him."

8


	8. Old Wolves and Cubs

8. Old wolves and cubs.

On the next morning, Keran decided to try fishing. He hadn't anything else to do anyway. Illana still wasn't allowing him to help her with housekeeping, the strange female weasel, that came to help her yesterday still was sleeping, famous Terys, whom he was eager to see, still hadn't returned, and through the squirrel felt himself almost healthy, he still has no particular desire to see his family. So, upon founding fishing-rods in the healer's house, he quickly decided, that instead of simply sitting idly, he could, at least, sit idly on the fresh air, and pretend to be doing something useful.

The day was sunny and unusually warm for this time of the season, but this time good weather hadn't really improved Keran's gloomy mood. Since that ill-fated day, when he lost the way in the woods, everything in his life was going wrong. It seemed, that everything, that he tried to do, or say, turned up badly. The young squirrel perched on a root of the old tree, which extended over waters of the small river, that flowed in a half-hour of walking from Illana's house and sulked, consumed by his unhappy thoughts.

Squirrel's head was still bandaged, and this impaired his hearing, but if he wasn't so immersed in unhealthy mix of self-pitying and self-loathing, he would have noticed a beast behind him, before it rapped on the tree bark, to draw Keran's attention.

The young squirrel almost jumped up from fright, but immediately gathered his wits, turning quickly to face the stranger… and froze in shock for a moment, seeing a weasel. Fright made his footpaws clumsy, and he nearly fell down from the root, before realizing, that it was the healer weasel, who treated Aulbek… Tiani, or what was her name?

"Oh it's you…" Keran sighed with relief, trying to regain his balance, without dropping the long and unwieldy fishing rod.

"Hey, what's up?" the weasel sighed too, and spread her paws. "Am I so scary? Or it is just my fate to run into crazy woodlanders?"

"Th-that's nothing. I think I'm just nervous."

Tiani measured him with a glance.

"No wonder, that you are. You should use your remaining ear, though, unless you want to lose it too."

"And you should watch your tongue," Keran instantly grew irritated, partially because the weasel lacked manners, partially because he was angry at himself, for being scared by the beast, who hardly was larger or stronger than the young squirrel.   
"And you should look at your float, instead of bickering," the weasel had no intention to leave the last word to him. "Did you catch something, anyway?"

"Um… no."

"Too bad," Tiani picked up a fishing rod, which she leaned against the tree. "I'm going to remain here for a few days or weeks – must make sure, that everything is all right with Aulbek, or whatwashisname. Can't depend on the fat dormouse for treating him proper. And so, I need some real food."

"Tiani is a good healer," grumbled Keran. He almost added "vermin" at the end of his phrase, but stopped himself. Though the youngbeast liked the female weasel less and less with each word, he still remembered, that she came to help. "And her food is good, too."

"Yeah, I noticed, that she feeds well!" snarled the weasel with sudden anger. "But I need fish broth for that young lad – it is the best food for an unconscious weasel. So keep your mouth shut, and your eyes on the float!"

Keran preferred not to answer, and even tried to do, as she said. However, he couldn't help but to squint at Tiani furtively time and again. He already had an opportunity to watch a weasel closely once, but then he was scared senseless. This time fear wasn't hampering his curiosity. In tales and legends, which Keran heard during his visits to the village, mustelids, like other vermin, usually were dirty, smelly, ill-mannered, stupid and wicked. Tales seemingly hit the nail on the head about bad manners, and weasel's scent, that he caught every time the light breeze was blowing from Tiani's direction, seemed sharp and acrid to his nostrils. However, the squirrel noticed, that her fur was clean, as if she took a bath just this morning, and her clothing was simple but well-kept. This weasel obviously couldn't be called stupid too… but how about "wicked"? Keran wasn't sure.

Maybe because he was too distracted by weasel's presence, he still failed to drag anything but algae out of the river, while Tiani caught one roach after another. Finally, the squirrel broke the silence:

"You are good fisher…"

"Say something I don't know, or keep your mouth close," cut him short Tiani. Keran went silent again. However, an expression of grievance and anger on his face was so obvious, that after a minute or two of silence the weasel added in a hushed tone:

"You shouldn't speak as loud as a drunken badger. It could scare off the fish," she may have said more, but at that instant her float disappeared below the surface with such speed and strength, that fishing rod curved in her paws. The weaselmaid wasn't slow. She instantly got up, and tried to drag, but this time the fish, that swallowed her hook was much larger and stronger that simple roaches. The fishing line barely withstood its desperate jerks.

Keran watched Tiani's struggle almost with rejoice. Then one of her footpaws slipped on the grass, and she barely managed to avoid falling in the river, still refusing to let the fishing rod out of her grasp. The squirrel hesitated for a moment, but even though he didn't like weasel's attitude one bit, Keran hardly held big enough grudge against her to stand and watch, while she was in peril. The youngbeast rushed to Tiani, and timely caught the fishing rod just as it slipped out of her fingers.

"Hold on it!" the weasel leaped back on the footpaws to help him, and she did it just in time – Keran, who believed the female mustelid to be much weaker than him, was surprised by the might of the hooked fish and barely avoided falling on his face. Even together, they struggled for two minutes, before the exceptionally large crucian was finally pulled from the water.

"Phoooohhhh," Tiani collapsed on the ground, gasping. "I… thought… I got a pike… no less. Thanks…"

"Never mind," answered the squirrel after a short pause, filled with heavy breathing. "Glad to help."

The weaselmaid nodded in appreciation:

"Now we can go back… There is enough fish to feed a hungry horde."

When she began to rise, Keran spoke again:

"Say, why you don't like Illana so much? She is a very kind beast…"

Tiani began to gather the fish, her back on the squirrel, ignoring him.

"Um… I meant, it's not like she could have hurt you, or something," hastily tried to clarify his words embarrassed Keran. "I'm just curious, you need not to answer, if you..."

"Curious beasts lose their noses sometimes," sighed the weaselmaid, and turned to walk away. Keran thought, that it was all the answer he will get, when she continued:

"We have something like a family grudge between us. I could tell you our story on the way back, if you want to hear it so much."

"Ehm… I do," responded the squirrel somewhat cautiously, catching up with her.

And so, Tiani told Keran the story of Elam, Dansten, and Rinta the fox healer.

"But why they were so cruel?" interrupted the young squirrel, after hearing about fox's exile.

"Why? You are naïve like a season-old mouse, kid."

"Hey, I'm not a…"

"Do you want to listen, or to argue?" the female paused for a short time, waiting for an answer, and continued. "Of course, this rotten bastard Elam wanted to remove the rival healer, one who was better than him! And he did it! You know, mistress Rinta always avoided her kind and other predatory beasts – she made some enemies among them, I think, though she never said, who they were. And trying to gain the trust of another woodlander's village… Well rumors fly faster, than an old beast could walk. And so she was forced to live alone in the forest! Can you even imagine, how hard such life is?"

Keran thought for a moment and shook his head. True, his family lived apart from its neighbors, but they always came to help when there was some work, too heavy for a single female squirrel.

"Nobody was there to help mistress, but a few villagers, who visited her from time to time for her…" Tiani looked at Keran, and paused slightly, as if thinking about something, before continuing, "…hm, special potions, and an occasional riverrat. And I was too young. My mother was a wandering rogue, who stumbled upon Rinta in search of a midwife. She died at the first moon of the spring, soon after giving birth to me – I don't remember her at all. Mistress said once, that she would have saved my mother, if only her burrow was a bit warmer, and her larder wasn't empty than after a long winter. And she herself – she died from cold last winter, because our hearth is mere bonfire, surrounded with stones, and when it was lit, smoke asphyxiated her! Did you ever seen someone dear to you, choosing between freezing to death, and coughing its lungs out?"

The weasel kicked a tussock that happened to be in her way furiously. Even her breath became rugged from anger.

"But… why you had come, then?" Keran asked mechanically, and immediately regretted it – his tongue again proved to be faster than his mind. The question, however, didn't enrage Tiani further.

"Don't worry, if it was that fat dormouse, who needed healing, I would have left her to die. And she's already punished for deeds of her family – visitors from the village told us everything. Do you know, how her fiancé died?" a cruel smile twisted weasel's features.

Keran only shook his head.

"Oh, I began to believe in Fate, when I learned about it. Before their wedding, this Dansten decided to find a rare gift for his bride. He traveled far from home and was attacked by crows – they badly mauled his right paw. When he managed to shamble back, it was already inflamed badly. But you know, that old shithead Elam couldn't just amputate it – not after he blamed Rinta for the same. Dansten died from gangrene, his body rotting alive to match his soul. And Elan had a stroke shortly after that, because his own daughter blamed him for this I bet. Isn't it great?"

Keran shuddered, now understanding, why Illana didn't want to remember her past. However, weasel's obvious glee astonished him.

"How you can be so callous? Is…"

"Easily!" Tiani let out a mirthless laugh. "Did you ever truly hate somebeast, kid? Hate is like a red-hot knife, which burns your paw, until you douse it in the blood of your enemy. However, my enemy is dead – and I cannot even make his daughter more miserable, than she is. No wonder, that I'm angry, k..."

"Don't you even try to touch Illana," interrupted Keran, seriously angered by weaselmaid's words. "And stop calling me kid!"

Suddenly, new thought came to his head:

"Hey, and how old you are, weasel? Illana is still young, and your fox was exiled when her father already prepared the marriage."

Tiani knitted her brow, thinking:

"Hmmmmm… Fifteen seasons, I think. Yeah, about so."

"What?" this time Keran was totally stupefied. "And you dare to behave like a seasoned healer?"

Backhand caught him totally by surprise. The half-stunned squirrel fell back on his butt – Tiani definitely had a heavy paw for a young female.

"I am a seasoned healer!" weaselmaid's fur bristled up from rage. "While mistress was alive, I spent every damn free minute of my life, studying her craft! I treated real wounds and fractures before! I came here to help, and I did help! So shut up and fuck off, brat!"

Keran already opened his mouth to yell something even more insulting, but suddenly slammed it shut. Exchanging pointless insults would have been childish. And the mustelid was right – he insulted her undeservedly. He should know better, than saying something without thinking, only because somebeast's words really irritate him.

"I'm sorry," the squirrel began to rise back on his footpaws.

"What?"

"I said, I'm sorry. My words were stupid. You are the great healer. However," his voice became hard. "Stop treating me like this, or you'll be sorry too, weasel!"

Suddenly, Tiani smiled.

"As you wish… Keran. However – stop calling me weasel!"

"As you wish… Tiani."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Wenelt the Sawteeth was cheerful again. This morning he managed to drop a woodpigeon with his sling, and now the ferret was full and smug. Grief for the lost bounty no longer darkened thoughts of the optimistic mustelid. And bright, warm day improved his mood further, so he even began to whistle one of his favored melodies, while trotting along the small river. A riverrat named Garflic, who brought Wenelt here half of a tenday ago, promised to return and pick him up… not for free, of course. Finally, the ferret noticed Garflic's boat on the bank and smiled. He was lucky to find the ferrybeast so soon… Fate clearly was turning its bright side to him.

The graying rat himself sat not far way from his small craft, tending to the bonfire. Upon seeing approaching Wenelt he twitched for a moment, as if unpleasantly surprised, but stood up to greet him with a smile.

"Ah, ye're back already."

"Looks like I am. Now, quench the fire, and get me out of here." before the phrase was finished, the ferret suddenly felt an ill premonition. He wasn't an exceptionally perceptive beast, but possessed something like sixth sense, an intuitive ability to smell danger developed during many seasons of dealing with all sorts of wretched scum. And now it just screamed to him, that something was wrong… A second later, he realized that Garflic was suspiciously nervous – and not very good at hiding it.

"Move yer paws, rat, I'm a busy beast," Wenelt casually moved closer, trying his best to keep the usual haughty demeanor. Mustelid's ears, however, already were perked up, trying to catch any strange sounds.

"Errr… but I'm hungry. Just wanna have some snack for meself first. How ye can work the oars, with empty belly?" as the ferret moved, the rat backed away, looking at him.

The ferret just smiled, driving the ferrybeast back around the bonfire, so that he could keep an eye both on the paltry rodent, and on surrounding shrubs. Before he deigned to answer, from these shrubs rang out a harsh female voice:

"Stop, and drop you…"

Of course, Wenelt, who already expected some kind of ambush, didn't even think about obeying. Instead, he lunged forward, grabbed Garflic, and jerked the rat to himself hoping to use the double-crossing vermin as a living shield. Bowstring twanged somewhere in the shrubs. The ferret felt, that rat's body shook, as something hit it. Without wasting any time, Wenelt flung the wounded ferrybeast away and charged at unlucky archer's direction. Now, when she stepped out of her hiding place, he was able to see her position! If only she will fail to draw another arrow in time…

She failed. Thick branches slowed the ferret for a moment, and if the young vole, that tried to shoot him, kept her cool, she likely would have managed to put her second arrow straight in vermin's unprotected chest. But something almost paralyzed her. Maybe it was fright, maybe it was the sight of Garflic writhing on the earth with her arrow protruding from his stomach. In the next instant, Wenelt was upon her, with saber already raised for killing blow. She tried to turn and run, but it was too late. In the last second the mustelid changed his mind, and struck the now-defenseless vole with basket hilt, instead of cutting edge. The female fell, as if hit by lightning.

Wenelt stopped and lowered himself to the ground beside her, breathing heavily. "Hellsteeth, that was pretty close."

Now, when the heat of battle died down, the mercenary ferret felt the searing pain in his left footpaw. It seemed that he stepped into bonfire while rushing to attack, and didn't even notice it. Another, more elaborate, curse escaped his lips. Even slight injuries to footpads were really nasty and often really dangerous, as every traveling beast knew. But at least, now he had a boat. And a slave, albeit a dangerous one.

Wenelt slowly rose, limped to the place where he dropped his shoulder bag, fetched the coiled rope out of it, and returned to the unconscious vole, ignoring Garflic's agonizing wails and sobs. Only when the female was safely bound, he turned his attention to the riverrat. As far, as the mercenary could tell, the hapless betrayer was going to die, and die badly, even without his "help". Piercing wound to the stomach was among the worst ways to part with this world – it practically ensured slow, painful demise. The ferret smiled, and walked in front of Garflic, so that the dying rat could see him.

"H-help me… please, I beg…" the rat, weeping from pain, barely mustered the strength to lift his head.

"Why? Traitors an' double-dealers belong to Hellgates, ye know. Methinks, ye could find a way there without help," the mercenary almost laughed, watching a pitiful expression on ferrybeast's tear-stained face. "But ye're lucky, blighter. I'm not a cruel beast… well, mostly not a cruel. Speak, who's this vole bitch, and how she found me, and I'll ease yer pain."

"I… I don't know… she… I didn't know… that she was there… "

"Try some better lie next time. This one won't fly. Well, if ye'll have a next time."

The dying vermin shuddered, looking at mustelid's face, and failing to see even an ounce of compassion in it.

"I… I met her downstream… She wanted to kill you… Said… that's revenge… Paid me well…"

"Too bad," Wenelt bent down to take riverrat's knife. The ferret unsheathed it, frowned with contempt at the sight of the ill-kept blade, and then lowered his remorseless gaze to Garflic, who was staring at him with abject terror. "Don't worry, my scurvy buddy, I won't kill ye. Ye're goin' to regret this, though, if ants will find ye. Try to bite yer tongue off, if so."

Then Wenelt the Sawteeth extinguished the bonfire and walked away, not even noticing Garflic helpless pleas anymore.

When the vole archer regained her consciousness, she found herself firmly tied, and lying in a quite uncomfortable position on boat's bottom. Wenelt, who was sitting on the oars, smiled when she groaned and opened her eyes.

"Ye're quite tough, aren't ye, mousie? Was afraid that I hit yer head just a bit too hard."  
Woodlander's groan turned into a hiss of pain and rage.

"You!"

"Oh, well, that's indeed me," the ferret smiled even wider. "And who ye are, lass?"

Instead of answering, the vole tried to lunge at him, teeth bared, but without much success – with tight ropes on her paws she could only crawl.

"My, my, aren't ye a wild one," Wenelt mockingly shook his head. "Ye'll only hurt yerself at this pace, my pretty, so be quiet, like a good girl. Oh, and what's your name, again?"

A growl of hatred was the only response.

"Ye're kinda cute, when angry, ye know? Oh, and stop lookin', as if ye want to drill holes with these eyes of yers. Ye tried to kill poor me, not the other way round."

"Damn you! Filthy vermin! Killer!"

The ferret sighed theatrically:

"Ye know, I don't like to be called "killer". "Mercenary" sounds so much better. Besides, that was ye, who tried to kill me. And that was ye, who killed that son-of-whore Garlic. So, who's killer here?"

Insults stuck in vole's throat.

"I killed him?"

"Yep. Didn't ye remember?"  
The female woodlander went silent and still, looking at the sky mutely. And Wenelt laughed.

"Your first time, lass? Darksteel and Hellgates, you woodlanders are funny. Goin' to hunt somebeast, while havin' no guts to kill! That's why ye didn't shoot without warning? That was real stupid, ye know."

"Shut up, scum!" cruel words instantly transformed vole's shock into rage.

"An' who ye are, to shut me?"

"I'm Treysha from Highpines, daughter of Brennan, whom you killed!"

"Brennan, ye say?" the ferret became mockingly pensive. "Nope. Don't remember him. I guess, he was nothing special."

Treysha gasped and then growled, enraged beyond words. She furiously struggled against the ropes, until Wenelt kicked her sharply with the unharmed footpaw.

"Hey, don't rock the boat, my pretty! I lost count of my kills long ago, ye know, so why should I remember each vole I ever butchered?"

"Damn you! You… you…"

"Well, yeah, I'm a killer," admitted the ferret in a rueful tone. "Even if I hate this damn word, I still whack beasts for money. Slice 'em an' dice 'em without batting an eye. That's where goodbeast like ye is different from scum like meself, right? And that's why ye failed. Because ye lack nerve for killin'. Lack proper spirit."

By this point, Wenelt dropped his play, and again was grinning from ear to ear.

"Ye had a great chance to nail me, and ye blew it, because ye're a lily-livered woodlander, my dear mousie. And now ye're sooooooo goin' to regret this."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The young squirrel and the weaselmaid almost reached Illana's house, when they heard a voice behind them.

"Hey!"

Both beasts quickly turned to see Terys, who, apparently, has the same destination and just noticed them.

"You!" exclaimed Tiani. "Crazy otter!"

"Tiani Snowdrop, I assume," the otter bowed his head. "I must offer sincerest apologies for my rash actions during our last meeting. As well as heartfelt thanks for your kindly help."

"Huh?" Keran, who was delirious during his first meeting with Terys, didn't recognize the otter immediately. "What's going on?"

Otter's gaze quickly measured him.

"It is a true relief for me to see you in a good health. I must apologize again, but might I ask your name? Necessity forced me to leave before I could learn it."

"Oh," youngbeast's ears and nose blushed, but he decided to pretend that there was no confusion at all. "I'm Keran! Keran Rustfur!"

Upon hearing this name, Terys suddenly froze, with a strange expression on his face, but the squirrel didn't notice it: he already turned to Tiani.

"Don't worry he's Terys, the great warrior, who saved me!"

The weasel however, suddenly backed away, her eyes almost bulging form their sockets.

"What do you said? Terys? Is he…"

Keran, wasn't aware, that Illana completely forgot to enlighten the fellow healer, about otter's identity, and Tiani's reaction surprised him completely. Terys himself, however, noticed it in time and immediately snapped out from his astounded state.

"Please, no need to be afraid. I do not know, what you had heard about me, but I could assure that you have nothing to fear from me."

"Is that so?" Tiani still continued moving backwards from him. "By the fang, you'd nearly killed me last time!"

"And I regret it deeply," the otter lowered his head, his calm voice seeming almost… sad? "I was mistaking you for a bandit. Because of lapse in my judgment, I almost committed an unforgivable deed."

"Terys saved me," added Keran, looking at the weasel reproachfully. "Twirgle said, he carried me all the way to Illana's house – with the wounded paw, at that. He's the hero, just as stories tell…"

At this moment, Keran remembered some of these stories about famous battles with vermin, which he had heard during his rare visits to the village, and realized, that his words hardly could be a consolation for the weasel.

Then Tiani laughed all of a sudden:

"Blood and bones! Who could believe, that Terys the Swiftdeath sought a weasel to heal another weasel?"

"I hope, that anyone, who knows me in person, instead of judging by woefully incorrect tales and songs could believe it," Terys was deadly serious. "But could we continue our talk, while walking?"

At this moment, a mighty growl in the stomach betrayed the otter, who didn't eat anything for a whole day.

"I must admit, that I am eager to see Miss Illana hospitality again," continued Terys, unfazed.

This time, both youngbeast giggled.

As they trotted towards healer's house, the old warrior addressed Keran again.

"Are you indeed Keran, son of Tyan Rustfur and Kinta?"

The squirrel only nodded, hesitant to speak freely, not so much because the great hero looked aloof, and even scary, as much because he feared to say something stupid again.

"Might I know, how well your family fares? I am truly sorry, that I did not come himself to tell about your father's fate, but Kinta couldn't stand me even before his demise, so…" even though Terys wasn't looking at Keran directly, he couldn't miss the look of utter shock on young squirrel's face. "Is something wrong?"

"D…Did you know my father?"

"Yes, of course. You might be too young to remember him, but didn't your mother…"

"She never said me anything!" interrupted him Keran. "She refused to talk about him, after he abandoned us!"

"Abandoned?" before this moment Keran has no idea that absolute lack of expression could convey rage so well. "I see that I made a serious mistake. I should not have shirked my responsibility."

"But… Do you know, what happened with father? Do you know…" Keran halted, already realizing the truth.

The otter slowly shook his head.

"Your father died eight seasons ago, Keran," he put his paw on youngbeast's shoulder. "Let us get to Illana's house, and I will tell you the entire story."

9


	9. The story of Tyan

9. The Story of Tyan.

After the initial shock had receded, Keran found surprisingly little feelings within himself. His memories of Tyan were murky and spotty. The squirrel vaguely remembered, that his father was caring, if a little stern, beast, but after all those seasons, after all real hope for Tyan's return was abandoned, it was hard to feel love for him or sorrow because of his death. Instead, he was anxious to hear the truth at last. And to be honest, Keran was even relieved secretly – relieved that, at least, father hadn't abandoned his family and forgot about them. The youngbeast wondered now, why mother was so angry, whenever he tried to ask her about Tyan… Waiting while Terys' bandages were changed, and his hunger was satisfied – that was almost unbearable. Keran probably would have showered any other beast with questions immediately, but pestering the living legend didn't look like a very good idea. Though curiosity gnawed the young squirrel worse that any hunger or thirst he ever experienced, Keran feared to appear childish and impatient in his eyes. And the younbeast simply didn't know how to properly approach the famous otter, who, according to some stories, was the greatest woodlander champion alive. Every conceivable way to start a conversation on second thought seemed stupid or inappropriate. Thus, Keran remained silent, despite all his anxiety.

But finally everybeast was sated, and Terys politely asked others to leave him alone with Keran. When females left, the otter filled his cup with Illana's herbal tea again and settled down in the chair across the table from Keran.

"My apologies for the long wait, young one. I suspect, that we have lots of important things to talk about. So I decided to deal with everything, that could divert my attention from those things, first," the aging beast took a sip of tea. "Before anything else, I must ask: what do you know of Tyan Rustfur? Of his life before your birth? What your mother told you?"

"Um…" Keran lowered his eyes. "I was still a dibbun, when he left… And he never told us stories about himself… I think. And mother never spoke about the past, too. I know, that they moved to these woods just before I was born – beasts in the village said so…"

The otter was silent for a few heartbeats, as if reflecting on something, then spoke:

"I can understand your mother's motives, even if she is wrong. Keran," Terys' calm voice carried deadly seriousness now. "I must give you a very important warning. I, myself, shun lies and omissions. I can tell you the entire story of your father, if you wish to hear it. However, I believe that Kenna has important reasons to keep everything secret, and fear, that revealing it now may bring sorrow to her and ruin to your family. If you want to hear my honest advice, I could recommend just going and asking her to tell the truth. If your mother truly cares about you, she will tell you everything, of this I have no doubt."

The young squirrel said nothing in return, lost in thoughts. Now he wanted to know about his father even more, but Terys' grave warning disturbed him. No matter how cold and distant Kenna became, she still was his mother. For many seasons, she was the only beast in the entire world who showed him some affection. Maybe he indeed should go and speak to her? Surely, she wouldn't ignore the plead of her only son? Or would she?

"_I just made a hitch on my way to the village, to say, how much mother wants to tan your hide, my oh-so-precious brother._"

Memories of sister's mocking voice made Keran cringe. Could mother really send such message? Was Kerya bluffing?

"_At least, not we – we have nothing to spare, if you forgot._"

"_She wasn't," _whispered the bitter inner voice, from a dark corner of youngbeast's mind. "_Such lie is too gross even for her._"

The squirrel slowly shook his head and looked Terys in the eyes.

"My mother doesn't care about me. She doesn't at all. Tell me everything."

The otter again paused before answering, and when he opened his mouth, his opinion about Keran's decision was impossible to discern.

"As you wish," he shifted a bit, trying to take a more comfortable pose in the armchair. "This sad story began many seasons ago, when I was the young and inexperienced newcomer in the Northlands. Seeking villains to fight, I traveled to the windswept northern coast, the very end of our world. There lives a powerful tribe of squirrels, who, much unlike rest of your kind, prefer make their homes on great coastal cliffs, instead of trees. And because of it, they are named the rock squirrels. The rock squirrels are very… quaint people, harsh, to match their land, and upholding many exceedingly strict and strange customs. They are not particularly friendly to outsiders, but I managed to gain their trust, by helping the tribe in its neverending war against corsairs and flesh-eating birds. I even befriended the eldest son of their chieftain. That son, young Keran, was your father, Tyan Rustfur."

Terys almost imperceptibly sighed, remembering his old comrade.

"We even traveled together for a time. Your father was a great warrior, and a great friend, always valiant, always bright, and never tolerating injustice. Company and trust of a beast like him is a great honor to anyone, and I was proud to have them. And in the eyes of his people, Tyan was a shining example of virtue, except for one thing. You see, Keran, chieftain's eldest son is the heir of his father's position in the tribe, and is expected to ensure the continuation of their family line of chieftains by marrying as early as possible and having a whole lot of dibbuns. But Tyan remained single for a long, long time, even though no young maid among the rock squirrels could possibly reject him. Maybe he waited for a true love of his life. And Fate sent him the true love, albeit with a painfully cruel twist. Female, that caught his eye and heart was already married to a young rock squirrel warrior. That warrior, young Keran, was the one, after who you are named, and that female was your mother, Kenna. Everyone who knew them said that no two other squirrels in the tribe loved each other as deeply, as they."

Otter's brown eyes stared into space now, as if he was seeing some thing imperceptible to others.

"And your father was Keran's best friend and mentor. They were almost like brothers. It is not surprising, that the love brought only suffering to Tyan Rustfur."

At this point, Keran almost interrupted Terys' measured narrative, and barely managed to hold back the impatient questions.

"But he suffered silently, confiding his true feelings only to two or three beasts whom he trusted most of all. I was among those beasts, but like others I had no real advice to give him. Just like you cannot command somebeast's heart to stop beating, you cannot advise it to stop feeling, I guess.

And so it was, until Keran died. A stray arrow transfixed him in some unimportant skirmish with searats shortly before his daughter, the first cub of Keran and Kenna, was born. This daughter, young one, was Kerya, your half-sister."

"What?" this time the young squirrel was so utterly dumbfounded, that he failed to keep silent. "Half-sister?"

"I thought that I made myself quite clear," for a second, Terys' voice became coldly sarcastic, but the otter almost instantly suppressed his irritation. "You indeed have different fathers. She is the daughter of Keran the elder. And you are the son of Tyan. I know little, about events, which happened after Keran's death, and I do not know, why your mother finally agreed to marry your father. At that time I wandered across southern reaches of the Northlands, fighting against Flitchaye cannibals, and when I finally went to visit Tyan, he already left his tribe with Kenna and her daughter. I faced rather… cold reception from Terrik, your grandfather and the current ruler of rock squirrels. It seems he blamed me, among other beasts, for, as he put it, "desertion" of Tyan. I barely managed to leave his land without bloodshed, and decided to search for your father. You should know that he was an experienced forester, and expert at avoiding pursuit. That's why other rock squirrels failed to even catch the scent of his tracks. However…"

"You found him?" Keran's hasty question cut the phrase short.

Terys stopped talking and just stared at the impatient listener. Keran shuddered almost visibly, and quickly lowered his eyes to avoid otter's unblinking gaze.

"Ehm… I… I didn't mean to…"

"That is good to hear. Now, be silent, and stop interrupting me, or we will never get to the end of the story," Terys took another gulp of tea, before continuing.

"Yes, I found Tyan and Kenna. However, while Tyan was glad to see me, Kenna most certainly was not. I cannot be sure of her reasons, but I believe, that she desired to live a peaceful and secluded life with your father. Maybe after she lost her first husband, she was too afraid to lose another, and desperately wanted to get away from her tribe and its endless war. And afraid, that I could drag him into something dangerous again."

Terys paused for a second, and upon resuming the tale, his voice seemed almost sad.

"In the end, young Keran… she was right. About twelve seasons ago, a furious seastorm brought the unexpected and dangerous foe to the northern coast. They were not your usual corsairs, or searat raiders: they were refugees from a war somewhere among the western islands, soldiers and mercenaries, who fought on the losing side, and were forced to flee after the death of their warlord. Every bit as vicious as typical wavescum, but with much more resolve. Many of them escaped along with their families, and their remaining ships were wrecked beyond repair by the storm, so they had no choice, but to carve a home for themselves in the new land. Of course, rock squirrels and other coast dwellers were definitely not happy to find a few hundred predatory vermin at their gates, and they met them with spears and slingstones. But islanders were experienced fighters, and they had a good commander – Hattrad the fox. They quickly crushed everyone, except for the rock squirrels who were besieged in their cliff home. When I heard the news about the invasion, I realized that their tribe needed all the help I could get. If Hattrad and his horde were allowed to conquer the entire coast, consequences for the entire Northlands – including even this quiet wood – could have been dire. I had many friends and comrades here and there, but not all of them lived close enough to come in time, or were able and willing to help. So, even though I respected Tyan's decision, I pleaded him to fight for his tribe once again. As I remember, you were already old enough to walk and climb trees then… but I hadn't seen you on that day. I met and talked with your father on a small glade, away from his home. And he agreed to take up his sword and bow to protect his people one last time."

"So… that's why he left…" muttered Keran to himself. "He…"

"Yes," softly responded Terys, who didn't seem angry this time. "I am absolutely certain, that Tyan loved you and your mother with all his heart. When we fought islanders together, he talked about you, Kenna, and your home, almost every day. So much, in fact, that it began to seem irritating. I don't think...I don't think that he followed me to war because his sense of duty was stronger than love. Believe me or not, but I am sure, that he battled the invaders because he loved all of you. Because he wanted to stop the war before it could come to your doorsteps."

The otter looked and sounded obviously, almost painfully apologetic, but Keran just asked:

"And… and how my father died?"  
Terys sighed again, recognizing eagerness to hear the tale of bravery and sacrifice in squirrel's voice.

"During the war, Tyan distinguished himself as the bravest of the brave – and still, enemy arrows and stones failed to even brush against his fur. Some of the more superstitious warriors even whispered that he was enchanted. Others said that if any of us was favored by fate, it was Tyan. And yet he died – on what we thought to be the very first day of peace."

"But… didn't you win?"

"Yes, we did. In the end, Hattrad and his remaining followers decided to lay down their arms, on the condition, that they will be spared, and allowed to settle somewhere in the Northlands. But when islanders were leaving their fortified camp and disarming, one of them drew a hidden knife and stabbed your father. The new battle broke out immediately. No, that wasn't battle, that was slaughter…"

Terys shook his head slowly, before continuing:

"I will say only one thing: this day contributed much to my "fame"."

The bitter sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable. Even Keran, who had thousand questions ready, hesitated slightly, before breaking the brief silence:

"But why no one said this to me before?"

The otter almost snarled:

"That, young Keran, is the question that only your mother can answer."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The sun already vanished below the treetops, when Wenelt the Sawteeth dragged his newly acquired boat on a river bank. Though the ferret rowed against the current for a half of the day, he didn't even seem tired. Treysha, who ceased her futile struggles long ago, now looked almost comatose just lying on her back and staring in the sky blindly.

"Lemme cheer you up a bit." Wenelt looked down on her, leaning his elbows on the boat's side. "Ye put me in a mightily nasty pinch, lass. Ye know, Garflic flea-ridden tribemates might be a bit angry, if I show up in his boat without him. So I cannot go downstream. And my footpaw hurts… trying to whack poor me wasn't nice on yer part."

The vermin picked up his large flask, and made a few gulps, then looked down at the vole again:

"Wanna drink? Ye sure are thirsty now."

Treysha turned her head a bit for a first time in the entire hour, woodlander's eyes focused on the ferret. Seeing all too familiar expression of hatred on the face of his captive, Wenelt sighed loudly:

"That's not a trick, dear. Never liked random cruelty, ye know. What's the profit in killin' an' torturin' for fun? Yer own slaves, to boot?"

"I… I'm not your slave, vermin!" rasped Treysha. She tried to spit at the ferret, but her mouth was too dry.

In response, the mercenary just shrugged.

"Some beasts would've flayed yer back for this. Me, I think pretty gals are way too rare in our lands to maim them. Call me, if ye change yer mind. But not too loud – crows, or other flying shitbags might be near. And be glad, that it is too early for gnats…"

With these words, Wenelt limped away. Hunger and thirst could break anybeast's defiance, unless the slave truly wants to die, of that he was sure. And the young vole didn't seem resolute enough to choose death…

When, half-hour later, Treysha weakly called for him, the mercenary, who managed to build a bonfire already, despite his burned footpaw, only smiled. He returned to the boat, unceremoniously hauled the vole out of it, let her to drink from his flask and retied the ropes on her footpaws, so that she was able to mince around but not to run. All the time, he remained wary of her sharp teeth, but after the ferret easily lifted Treysha with one paw, she was simply shocked by mustelid's strength, and didn't try to bite.

"Good, my pretty. Now, if ye have other, heh, needs, I'll look another way. But don't ye try to run or bite me in the ass – I still have ears and a sling."

The female only growled something under her nose.

"Can't hear ye, lass. Wanna swear at me? Swear aloud, I'm not that touchy, ye know. By the way, will ye like a roasted bird?"

"What's up with you, bastard? Why you are so…"

"Kind? Heheheheh. Half-dead slaves ain't worth shit, ye know? If ye wanna be wealthy, ye should keep yer slaves healthy, an' all that. Besides, I have a bit of a soft spot for pretty gals."

"You, stinking worm…" Treysha suddenly shut her mouth, looking at the ferret, obviously scared. Wenelt who could almost smell her fear, laughed:

"Don't ye worry, I'm not gonna rape ye. Against my rules, ye know."

"Don't tell me about "rules", you rotten-hearted villain!" Treysha exploded again and almost jumped at him, but footpaws, still aching from the tight ropes, failed her. "You are brigand, murderer and slaver, don't speak like you have some honor!"

The ferret laughed again:

"That sounds funny, ye know? Wanna be raped, tortured an' have yer little throat slit?" he sat down, leaning against tree trunk, still keeping the sling at paw. "Wait till ye're sold, at least. By the way, what I did to yer father to make ye so mad?"

For some time, Treysha just looked at him, weighting her chances to sink teeth in vermin's throat, or to run away. But she was forced to admit – the murdering ferret was so strong, that she had no chance whatsoever in paw-to-paw combat against him. Even if her paws were free. And he seemed proficient with the sling, too – proficient enough to have a good chance to drop the beaten and battered vole, before she could disappear in the darkness of the night. Even if she wasn't hobbled. Then she growled and almost spat at him:

"My father, Brennan, was the strongest beast in Highpines and the great warrior. With him, we had no fear of rogues and brigands. Until the leader of one band, so-called "warlord", damned Ironcoat the ferret, hired you! Until you challenged father to a single combat! He should have just cut you down on the spot, instead of accepting. Because you, scum, cheated, you killed him by surprise, before he even drew his sword!"

"Eh? Now I remember somethin' like this. Yer dad was a fool. Ye should come to the battlefield with yer sword in paw, I say. Unless ye're master of quick draw, that is. Besides, that wasn't cheatin', my dear: in a horde combat starts when both fighters step in the circle, ye know."

"Like hell I care," gloomly responded Treysha, too spent and exhausted for a new fit of rage.

Wenelt just shrugged:

"And why ye? Yer dad failed to sire any brothers for ye?"

"No," slowly answered the vole. "They all died freeing our village from Ironcoat and his vermin. I'm the last of my kin. And I have no gold to hire some thug good enough to take you down, or a Taeshma assassin."

The ferret looked at the fire for some time before turning his head to Treysha:

"Let's make a deal, lass. Ye will never speak _that_ name again. And I will not make ye eat yer teeth."

The female failed to suppress the shudder. Mercenary's eyes were deadly serious.

"Aren't mighty Wenelt the Sawteeth scared?" she grinned unconvincingly, trying to make her own fear not so obvious.

"Only the dead fear nothin'," barked the ferret in response. "Callin' 'em… the shadow clan – callin' 'em by the name brings bad luck. That's like babbling about thrice-cursed Salamandastron... only worse."

Suddenly, Wenelt smiled:

"But ye know, there is one good thing about these pale-furred butchers: I they're half as bad as beasts say, they make even me look like nice guy."

6


	10. Those who pay their debts

10. Those who pay their debts.

Terys was tired from speaking. He didn't like to tell stories. He didn't like to speak about his dead friends. Never mind to answer too much curious questions about them. So, when Keran finally finished inquiring him, the weary beast went outside to enjoy clean air, solitude and silence. Light evening breeze felt refreshing, not bone-chilling for the otter, protected by his warm pelt, sun, though already close to the horizon, shone brightly. Even the injured paw stopped reacting with dull tingles of pain to every sharp movement – the wound received in the battle with Delgor was slowly healing. Terys walked slowly, listening to the sounds of the wind and small birds above in tree crowns. A peaceful forest stroll in solitude always helped him to relax and forget worries for a moment. At least as much, as the old warrior, who remained alert even in his sleep, allowed himself to relax. And as much as he was able to forget many things which worried him. The weasel, now snoring peacefully in Illana's house, for example…

The otter returned when first stars appeared on the evening sky.

"Is Keran still here?" said Terys quietly, as Illana opened the door for him.

"Yes," the dormouse glanced at him disapprovingly. "What you told to the poor kid? I barely talked him into staying for the night – why this sudden need to return home? And he isn't healed completely yet!"

"The story of his parents," shrugged the warrior, walking in.

Illana just frowned, but decided not to press the issue. Instead, she quietly began to lay supper for the otter. Terys was pleasantly surprised when the large bowl of hot soup appeared on the table – the female healer obviously was nice enough to wait for his return and to keep fire in her kitchen burning all the time.

"Sorry that I was late for the supper. I should have remembered that you may be waiting for me."

"Ah, that's nothing," Illana smiled, putting a plate full of scones on the table. "It is the least I can do in return for your kind help. Not many beasts go out of their way to save the life of a stranger."

Terys paused, slowly twirling the spoon in his fingers.

"To prevent any misunderstanding: maybe I possess some virtues, but kindness is not the one of them. Irta and other villagers promised to pay me for killing the foxes. And, as I said before, I have my own reason to keep the young weasel alive."

The dormouse healer just turned back to pour out the herb tea.

"Well, it is said, that we should judge beasts by their deeds, not by their words," she put Terys' teacup on the table, before continuing. "And your deeds aren't the deeds of a heatless beast."

The soundless sigh was the only response. The otter stopped talking and started eating. Against his own will, he felt strangely flattered by Illana's praise, but didn't want to show it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The sun had set four hours ago, and the bonfire had died soon thereafter. Wenelt snored softly in the darkness – but the noise wasn't interfering with his captive's sleep at all, primarily because sleep was the last thing on her mind. After the ferret closed his eyes, she waited for the entire hour, before moving. She had no real idea how to get free, but hatred and wounded pride kept her awake. Still, emotions alone were not sufficient to undo strong and ropes. And finding something with which they could have been cut or grated through, was difficult – anything could be difficult, when you can only creep around, trying to produce as little sound as possible. Until she noticed ferret's knife. The veteran warrior slept hugging his sheathed saber and his battle dagger remained at his side, but he seemingly forgot about the small knife which he used during supper! It remained in the root, into which Wenelt drove it after supper – the small knife, simple small band of sharpened iron on a wooden handle. Not suited for trying to saw a hemp rope on one's own wrists, tied behind your back, but infinitely better than nothing. However, crawling to it silently was not easy at all, and pulling it out proved to be nothing less than a nightmarishly arduous task. The vole was just unable to assume a good position for it, with her footpaws tightly bound again and her wrists tied behind her back; the handle was small and slippery and the blade was buried in the root almost completely. Finally, to avoid waking the ferret up Treysha was forced to put more effort into being silent than into actual work. But all of that hadn't stopped her from trying, failing and trying again. Ten times. Twenty times. One hundred times. Two of her claws were broken, in attempts to more firmly hook on the knife. Two hundred times. She bit through her lip, to not cry out, when another claw was ripped from her flesh. Three hundred times. Knife's handle became even more slippery from blood, but Treysha still continued clawing, yanking and pull the obstinate blade… until it swayed slightly. Her dark eyes watered with tears of joy, as she paused for a moment to calm and center herself and then resumed the painful work with renewed resolve. And finally the small blade slipped from its wooden prison. The vole fell onto her face, breathing heavily, then suddenly froze in terror, remembering about Wenelt sleeping nearby. Treysha pricked up her ears, trying to catch familiar sounds of ferret's snore. But instead of them came the words:

"Can't believe mine poor eyes! Ye did it! I shoved knife there with my full strength, ye know?"

The vole frantically rolled on her back to see the dark silhouette of the ferret looming over her. Obviously, Wenelt was awake for a few minutes at least.

"Did ye think, I just forgot my knife there? Ye're pretty stubborn, that's true," ferret's snow-white fangs glinted in the pale rays of moonlight as he grinned. "But beast who wanna nail me in my sleep must be a bit less noisy, lass."

"Damn you, vermin!" hissed Treysha with helpless fury. "You can kill me, but I'll never be your slave!"

"Such brave words… but don't ye worry, I believe ye. Ye tried so hard to get my knife, after all. So," steel blade hissed, as Wenelt drew his saber. "I'm really better off killing ye right now."

The mercenary sighed:

"There are beasts – like ye – who are just too damn bone-headed to know when quit. Ye can bend them, but never break – just forget a knife around them, an' ye'll find it in yer own back."

Slowly, ferret's saber was rising. Though the moonlight was dim at one moment Treysha saw clearly – its blade, for which the mercenary supposedly received his nickname, indeed was so chipped and nicked from countless fights that the entire saber seemed jagged, like a finely-toothed saw. True, overwhelming terror gripped her heart – terror that can only come from facing certain death and knowing, that there is absolutely nothing you can do. Before, the vole knew in her mind, that Wenelt could kill her with impunity, but her heart never really accepted it – never accepted how completely she failed, never accepted that her quest for vengeance could end up differently than those she heard about in legends and songs. But the sight of merciless blade left no place for doubt and hope – and reduced Treysha to a shivering wreck in an instant. She barely heard ferret's next words:

"I'm not a cruel beast, ye know? Eh, I fear ye don't. But anyway, can ye name me one good reason to let ye live, my pretty? Seems, ye're nothing but thorn in my side – and thorns must be removed. But ye still can try to prove me wrong…"

Wenelt cast an expecting look at the vole, but Treysha seemed paralyzed with fright. The ferret literally was able to smell her fear, even though they were half-dozen steps apart.

"Hellgates," after waiting for half of a minute, the ferret sighed again. "Ye leaving me no choice, ye know?"

And slowly, he moved forward.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Keran left healer's house almost as soon, as the first sunrays colored the sky over the horizon. Wound on his head, where squirrelkid's left ear previously was, still hadn't healed completely, and Illana let him go only after much grumbling and quiet complains about his rashness.

"I'll return soon, to repay you for your help," promised Keran seriously, almost solemnly, as he walked out of the door – and was gone, before Illana opened her mouth to assure, that she doesn't need any payment.

However early Keran woke up, he wasn't earliest bird this morning – and realized that three hundred paces away from Illana's dwelling, upon seeing Terys who was resting against the trunk of rowan tree.

"Going home already?" otter's words sounded almost disinterested.

"Eh," Keran stopped in his tracks. "Yes. Yes I do. I need to see my mother, and as you advi…"

"I know," the warrior interrupted him with the dismissive wave of the healthy paw. "I came here because I must say something to you."

Terys paused slightly before looking the young squirrel straight into eyes.

"I must admit that I wronged you through my indecision. The main reason why you was in the dark about your father's fate is my fear of facing the wife and dibbuns of Tyan Rustfur, whom I brought to his final battlefield. Maybe the messenger got lost, or maybe Kenna hid the news from you, but either way you suffered because I was selfish and neglected my final duty to Tyan. I am in your debt. And I always pay my debts. If you want anything from me, simply ask, and I will do my best to fulfill your wish, as long as it is reasonable. Be warned, however: I am not really good for anything except hunting and killing."

Terys went silent, waiting for an answer, but Keran seemed surprised and even embarrassed to the point of shock. Finally the otter sighed:

"You are in no need to hurry. Come to me when you will need something."

"Oh," the squirrel finally gathered his wits. "But you aren't… Sorry, I mean, you don't need to…"

"I do," Terys interrupted the yougbeast again, staring into his eyes intently. "And I think that you understand it very well."

Keran struggled with his clumsy mind for some time, trying to find appropriate words for an answer… and finally just nodded.

"Then I will be on my way. This forest is safe for now, so you may travel alone without fear."

And he walked in the direction of Illana' house, without looking back.

4


	11. Stormclouds are gathering

11. Stormclouds are gathering.

The unhealthy mix of barely hidden fear and even more barely hidden curiosity, exhibited by Tiani towards him began getting on Terys' nerves well before the day was over. The otter warrior pretended to miss her ill-hidden glances at the dinner table, but when the weasel girl began to peek at him from around the corner, while he was sitting outside, finally checking and sharpening his numerous weapons, his not very long patience finally ran out.

"Listen, young miss, if you want something from me, just come out and ask!" Terys' words, when he sharply and suddenly turned his head to face Tiani, sounded slightly harsher than was intended. He hated when beasts eyed him like her – with fright and curiosity, like he was some incredible freak of nature. Now, however, the otter regretted his words as soon, as she stumbled towards him, barely managing to control her fear. Terys wanted to hit himself in the head – if woodlanders sometimes were scared of him, then what could think a young weasel, who likely had heard only terrible rumors and scary tales of his deeds?..

The warrior sighed and put down the javelin, which he was inspecting:

"There is no need to be afraid. Whatever you might heard, I am not a murderer and not an enemy of all weasels everywhere. So, you have nothing to fear from me. Unless you are easily bored by long speeches, of course."

Tiani couldn't help but snicker.

"I also thought, that you already had an ample opportunity to examine me from ears to tailtip. If you accidentally missed something, I can add, that I am eighty-six seasons old, and, discounting my thirty or so scars, I am a perfectly normal male otter. I am not ten pawlengths tall, my fur is not made from iron, I cannot breath fire, and I don't like when beasts look at me like I can."

The weasel girl lowered her eyes as her nose and ears turned red from embarrassment. And Terys again felt the desire to hit himself. Scaring the understandably curious young beast senseless, then venting his irritation upon her… what he was thinking today? The otter wanted to apologize, but then his eyes picked something moving among the trees.

"Hide in the house!" sharply hissed the warrior, though his face still remained calm. "Quickly! Somebeast's coming!"

Terys' words hit Tiani like a whiplash – and like a whiplash they forced her to move quickly. In an instant she was gone. Terys didn't bother to follow her or even to rise. He already recognized new guests, and they weren't worth that much effort.

When Irta and two her companions – burly hedgehogs both – reached Illana's house, the scarred warrior just began honing the blade of his saber on the whetstone, trying to remove the small notch left by the tip of Delgor's broadsword. When the trio approached, he paused and raised his eyes, as if just noticing their presence. Just before Irta tried to say something, Terys spoke:

"You are in time. I was just about to begin thinking, when my payment will be brought"

"Payment?" the surprised hogwife stopped.

"Yes, payment. Reward. Fee. Are you forgot about out agreement? And that I need to eat something too?" Terys moved the whetstone along the edge and sharp sickening sound punctuated his words. Both of male hedgehogs inadverently stepped back and even Irta flinched. Terys frowned in turn – and the frown was particularly sour, because pain from the forceful move pierced his recently wounded paw.

"Erhm… I remember, of course. We will bring your food, as we promised, as soon…"

"Good. Then what are you waiting for?" cut her short Terys. "And don't forget to add some for Illana – she fed me since the battle, after all."

He looked down at the saber, and moved whetstone again, this time more cautiously, hoping this will be a sufficiently clear hint that the conversation is over. But Irta wasn't a beast to push around easily.

"Erhm… Actually, I came here, because of vermin in this house."

"I assure you, that there is no vermin in this house, unless my senses, memory and mind fail me" answered the otter coldly. "You should know already, that I, Terys from Redwall, shall not abide the presence of a vermin."

The warrior didn't need his nose and ears to tell, that Irta is frightened, but the hogwife still persisted:

"But Twirgle wouldn't lie to me. And werent't that beast, who ran inside when we appeared, a weasel, for the sake of the Dark Forest?"

Terys cursed in his thoughts. Damn Twirgle. He should have known better than to wag his tongue. But outwardly the otter remained calm. And very, very cold. He rose to his footpaws, slowly and threateningly, like a massive wave rising to fall upon an unlucky ship.

"Maybe you prefer to discern vermin by their hide. I, however, prefer to judge beasts by their deeds. And, to be honest, who you are to question my judgement?"

Irta seemed to swallow her tongue and her companions backed away noticeably. Finally, the hogwife managed to speak:

"I beg your pardon… But we…"

"No "buts". No one in this house is a threat to you or your village, of this I swear. Anything beyond that is none of your concern, so stop poking your snout in the affairs of others."

This time, even the hogwife herself stepped back, as if slammed by Terys' words.

"Is this a threat?" her voice was almost histerical.

"No. This is a recommendation."

Irta looked at the otter. At his weapons, carefully arrayed on the large piece of cloth. Again at the otter. And then she curled her fists, turned and left, trying to keep whatever remained of her dignity. Two other hedgehogs hurried behind, obviously glad to leave. Terys' eyes followed them, until all three disappeared in the forest.

"That was great!" Tiani, who obviously heard the entire conversation, jumped out of the door. "Crawled away like whipped rats! Serves 'em right!"

"No. There was nothing great," this time Terys took a deep breath before answering, to avoid sounding vitriolic. "I overdid it. Now Irta will never forget her humiliation. And probably will blame you and Illana for it, because you, much unlike me, are not above her reach."

Illana, who was eavesdropping together with Tiani and now stood on the doorstep, just nodded sadly. The young weasel stepped aside, turning her head from one woodlander to another, and her shoulders drooped in shame just as her triumphant grin disappeared.

"Oh. I'm so sorry!"

"You did nothing to apologize for, again much unlike me," Terys sighed. "It seems, that now I have yet another reason to stay here for a time. Just what I need…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile, somewhere far to the north…

Fine rain was drizzling over the coast from the very morning and strong icy wind blew from the ocean. Beasts who dared to walk outside without warm clothes during such weather surely risked to catch cold. But for the small group of mice, running along the seashore, this was the least of worries. Those of them who had heavy cloaks discarded them long ago, alongside with everything else that could slow them down even a bit – except for their cubs and their crude weapons. About twoscore in number, males, females and dibbuns together, they all looked equally battered, exhausted and remaining on their footpaws mostly through sheer force of will. Only one large male mouse still seemed energetic.

"Move, move! We're almost there!" with the heavy cudgel he pointed forward, to the massive cliffs, looming over grass, sand and water like a stern of huge black ship hauled from the water. For a moment he stopped and looked back with obvious unease, then resumed running.

They were already at the cliff foot, heading for the small and steep path up, when one of mousemaids tripped and fell. The large mouse immediately was there, helping her back on her footpaws.

"Please, just a little more!"

The mousemaid nodded and staggered forward, saving breath for now and words of gratitude for later. And then slowly fell on her back. A black-feathered arrow protruded up from her shoulder. The male mouse just stared at her in disbelief and shock for a second or two – before a hefty rock thrown from above hit his head. Then screams began. They ended quickly – hapless mice were in the open with nowhere to hide, no armor or shields to protect them and no strength to run away from stones raining from above and ruthless arrows from all sides. Only when the only remaining sound was the crying of a cub, pinned to the ground by his dead mother, attackers closed in. Half-dozen beasts jogged down the steep path in the cliffs, as confidently as if they were moving on a paved road, another six came from sand dunes below. Weasels and stoats they were – lean, wiry, scarred beasts, almost all in faded grey cloaks to match their mottled grey-brown fur. Only one beast stood out in his long black cloak with cowl and silver clasp. Now the cowl was pulled back revealing the graying face of elderly weasel – lacking noticeable scars and still attractive, even despite the perpetual scowl of contempt. Though mustelid's age was obvious, he moved swiftly and gracefully and his regal posture marked him as a leader much more clearly than his garment.

As the weasel surveyed the scene of carnage, walking among the corpses and inhaling nauseatingly sweet scent of blood, a mirthless smirk crawled onto his lips.

"Flawlessly done."

"T'was easy, after you figured out where they'll run, Chief!" grin of a nearby-standing stoat was half-triumphant, half-servile.

"I know," with these words, the black-cloaked beast suddenly snatched a spear from stoat's paws and with one powerful trust pierced the crying cub at his footpaws straight through the corpse of its mother.

"Check the bodies, finish off those who still breathe! Build a signal fire on the clifftop. And roast me something to eat as well."

Before the last word was spoken, weasels and stoats already scurried to do as he said. Soon a thin column of smoke rose over the cliffs. The vermin prepared a pile of dry wood in advance, and hid it from the rain in a small cave, as ordered their leader – now rainwater-soaked beasts appreciated his foresight greatly, huddling around the burning logs. The graying weasel, however, seemed to ignore bad weather, despite his age – he took no effort to move closer to the fire, or to seek shelter from the wind, either impervious to cold or resolute to show no weakness. His eyes were closed, as if he was lost in thought – or, maybe, considered his surroundings unworthy of attention. However, they shot open as soon, as the weasel heard shout of the young sinewy stoat, standing on lookout:

"I see him! The crow is here!"

"Stop yelling, Hashvan," the elderly beast said that almost idly, but the stoat instantly fell silent, frozen by fear. "And bring my haversack."

While he was saying this, the crow that was noticed by the lookout already glided close. Flaps of its wings were heavy and tired – flying in the rain and severe wind obviously wasn't easy for the large grey-black bird. It even missed the clifftop on the first try – the free space was small and bird obviously didn't want to fly straight into the fire or to hit one of the vermin. The black-cloaked weasel watched its efforts patiently, and wasted no time for greetings when the crow finally landed:

"What news this time, Dustwing?"

The crow panted for a few moments, before finally recovering his breath and croaking:

"Uglyface found nothing. Fish-eyes and snake-tongue said that everything goes well."

"I thought so," the elderly weasel folded his paws on his chest. "I have two more tasks for you. First, you'll return to Raulak. Tell him following, word for word…"

The mustelid made a short pause, before speaking again, clearly and harshly:

"I'm certain that the wretched whelp will run south, to leave the Northlands. I change my orders: you do not need to haul him back alive. Just bring me his dagger and his hide as proofs of your success. Upturn every stone and skin every creature from here to Mossflower, if need be, but kill him. If he will have company, kill everybeast around as well."

When he finished, Dustwing bobbed his head and looked aside, as if something distracted him. As usual, bird's "face" reflected no discernible emotions. The weasel simply waited: crow's thoughts often seemed slow – despite his excellent memory.

"I'll carry your words to uglyface," finally nodded Dustwing.

"Very well. After catching up with Raulak, you will fly to our many-named friend with this," the mustelid pulled the small wooden tube out of the bag brought by Hashvan the stoat.

"We will bind in to your paw with a rope, just in case. Don't open it – and don't lose it, or our deal will be broken."

"Is it so… precious?" wondered aloud the crow.

"In a sense," and the aged weasel smirked again. "For you, it is just useless powder. But for me, it is the chain and collar to leash the God of War!"

4


	12. Old Weapons, New Warrior

12. Old weapons, new warrior.

Three days had passed quietly since Keran left healer's home. Weather was sunny and, for this time of the year, warm. The trees were strewn with small new leaves and snowdrops bloomed in Illana's small garden. Tiani even stopped snarling and growling at Illana, when the dormouse presented the weaselmaid with a beautiful bouquet of her namesake flowers. At least, for some time. Terys' wounded paw practically healed and Illana removed the bandage from it. The otter even resumed practicing with his weapons – the process which both females found fascinating. The old warrior, in turn, found their attention irritating, but this time kept his feelings within, hoping that watching repetitive exercises will tire them soon enough. Everything was almost peaceful… as peaceful, as things can be when the shadow of death looms over the house. For Aulbek, the battle was not over yet. The young weasel survived the bloodloss somehow, and the skill of healers prevented his wounds from inflaming – but he was still unconscious. No beast was able to help him anymore – all that could be done was praying and hoping, that mustelid's natural stamina will be sufficient to survive. But, as Illana said to Terys when they dined on the third day, chances for this were becoming slimmer and slimmer as time passed:

"We cannot even feed him broth, really – no matter how cautious we are, in this condition he could choke on it. I'm so sorry, but…"

"Why you're so damn eager to blame herself all the time?" hissed Tiani, before Terys even opened his mouth. "Listening to you is more sickening than eating rotten fish! And, so just you know, I did eat rotten fish before – that's still better than starving to death."

The dormouse just looked aside, avoiding Tiani's eyes.

"Argh!" the weaselmaid almost spat. "If he will die, and that seems awfully likely, then the greatest share blame is on those who cut him up, and the rest is on me, so stop apologizing all the time, already!"

"Please," Terys rapped the handle of his large wooden spoon against the table. "We all appreciate your honesty, Miss Tiani, but can you be… less abrasive for a moment?"

The weaselmaid only snorted in response, grabbed a small apple from the platter and bit in it furiously. She obviously wasn't that much afraid of the famous verminslayer anymore. For that matter, Terys now wouldn't have resembled a great warrior at all, if not for his prominent scars. His manners definitely more suited a strict and old-fashioned but kindly uncle that a slayer of hundreds. But Tiani still remembered clearly, how scary this well-mannered otter can be – and heeded his words without too much grumbling.

"Well," sighed Illana, still gazing at the wall, as if there was something incredibly interesting on it. "At least the squirrel boy should be all right. If I remember correctly where his house is, he's likely reached it in a day. Don't know how well can straighten things out with his mother, however…"

Suddenly, Terys turned his head to the window:

"You will be able to ask him about it yourself in a moment."

Before either of the females could ask anything, somebeast knocked at the door. Illana rushed to greet an unexpected guest – a bit too hastily, so that her chair almost fell on the floor. The otter rose unhurriedly, unlike the dormouse, and followed her to the door.

But something was clearly wrong there – Terys figured that out when after the creak of opened door, he hadn't heard any greetings. In a few fast steps he crossed the antechamber and appeared behind Illana's back.

Something indeed was wrong. Even Terys for a slightest of moments almost wondered if the squirrel before him really was Keran. It was not because Keran finally removed his bandages, and the lack of left ear made his head looking terribly asymmetrical. It was not because of the unstrung bow over his shoulder and the curved sword, a bit too large for him, at the hip. It was not even because of the heavy brass-studded leather swordbelt on his waist, also a bit too large for the young squirrel – the swordbelt which Terys remembered all too well from the times he fought together with Tyan. It was because of squirrel's attitude, of almost imperceptible change in his expression. Instead of a timid kid, before the door stood a scarred warrior, filled with implacable resolve. Then Keran lowered his eyes, obviously embarrassed, and this image faded, like an illusion.

"Er… Hello. Miss Illana, I'm sorry, if I scared you."

"Oh, never mind," the dormouse waved her paws. "I was just surprised, upon seeing you like this. But, where, in the name of all seasons, you got these things?"

"Weapons of your father," pondered aloud Terys, before Keran managed to formulate his answer. "So, the messenger reached Kenna after all. And how your family reunion had unfolded?"

Squirrel's paws curled into fists, as he lowered his eyes further, avoiding old warrior's gaze. And Terys only shook his head:

"I had warned you."

"Terys, please," promptly said Tiani, almost interrupting the otter. "Keran, come in, don't stay here like a stranger. You are just in time for dinner. How is your head? Everything is healed already?"

She grabbed squirrel's paw and almost forcefully led him inside, rapidly talking all the time, so that neither of malebeasts was able to edge in a single word. Upon seeing them entering the kitchen, Tiani froze for a second then whistled in surprise.

"Hellgates! Nearly failed to recognize you. Where you got all these things?"

Keran bit his lip, then answered:

"They are parting gifts from my mother."

"Parting gifts?" it wasn't quite an answer which Terys expected.

"Yes," Keran turned to face him, this time looking straight into otter's face. "I decided to leave my home and become a wandering warrior, so I need weapons."

Illana gasped, Tiani just stared at the squirrel dumbly, but Terys seemed unfazed, even though he had premonition so terrible, that his heart was ready to burst from his chest.

"That is not a wise decision. Warrior's lot in life is hard, dangerous, and, no matter what you may hear in the legends, thankless. Besides, you lack training."

"Yes," Keran only nodded. "But there is the beast who can train me."

Terys already knew what he will say next.

2


	13. The Essence

13. The essence.

"I must make four things clear, before we begin," Terys' voice was calm as usual, but his tailtip twitched a little, betraying the hidden displeasure. "First: whatever you might think, I have neither proper skill nor the proper disposition to train someone. Second: I keep my promises, even if they were given without proper consideration. I will do my best to make you a good fighter. Third: in order to do so I will subject you to a strict training regimen similar to my own. If you want to be a warrior because of passing fancy or petty grudge, think again."

Keran shook his head vigorously:

"No matter how strict it is, I'm not going to give up. You'll see!"

"Will I?" the otter crossed his paws on the chest and looked at the sky. "And the fourth: for as long, as you study under me, you must obey my orders without question or hesitation, like a soldier. Even if they make no sense to you. The moment you fail to follow them, you forfeit your training. I absolutely will not teach you, unless you agree to this."

The young squirrel paused, thinking otter's words over then nodded:

"I agree. I will do as you say."

"So be it," shrugged Terys wearily. He flexed his left paw a bit, to see if the wound healed well, then bended forward and backward a few times, limbering up. "It seems that my age finally begins to tell, but I do not like give up without a fight. Even if the opponent is time itself. Also, I must compensate for missing my usual exercises, because of the wound. Some serious training is in order."

The otter swished his thick tail sharply:

"And the first part of the proper training is the warm-up. Follow me."

With these words, Terys turned and jogged into the forest. Keran hesitated slightly, before following the warrior, but caught up almost immediately: the otter wasn't moving very fast.

"And when we begin to train for real?"

Terys smiled:

"We're already doing it. By the way, you should save your breath."

Keran tried to scratch his ear, as he often did when perplexed – and only after his paw touched the fresh scar, he remembered, that his left ear was lost. The squirrel shuddered slightly and quickly lowered his paw. Half a minute passed, before he finally said:

"But it isn't that hard. So far, I mean."

"Many things seem easy at the beginning," Terys looked at him for a short moment, without slowing down. "And only at the beginning."

The otter seemed helpful, rather than threatening, but there was something in his words, that almost made Keran shudder again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Whew! That was good." Almost an hour later, when the two beasts once again were at the front of Illana's house, Terys finally stopped and looked back. "Hmmmm… I guess, you need rest, before we can continue."

That was the understatement of the day. As soon, as the otter ceased moving, Keran fell on all four, breath as heavy as the sound of smith's bellows. The young squirrel was soaked in sweat from the remaining ear-brush to the tip of his limp tail.

"Hadn't I said that you should save your breath?" shrugged Terys. "Tidy himself up and rest, for now. We are not yet done with today's training."

"You know what?" suddenly the squirrel heard Tiani's voice. However, at this moment he had neither strength nor desire, to even look at her direction. "Some tales say that Terys the Swiftdeath have less pity than a hungry pike. Looks like that's true."

The weasel's voice was quite serious, and it took some time for Terys to recognize that it was joke. Then he shrugged again and answered, a bit coldly:

"And the old Skipper, who drilled me when I was a young otter lad, often said that pitying apprentice warriors is cruel indeed. Because there are few enemies, courteous enough to pity an undertrained fighter in their turn."

"Never mind," Tiani waved her paws in a defensive gesture. "I mean, moron, who ran away from his own family for some stupid reason, doesn't deserve anything better."

"Hey!" despite the strong sense of vertigo, Keran forced his head up. "Watch your tongue."

"Eh? Why? That's true, after all."

"Stop bickering, please," the otter paused at the house's doorstep for a moment. And only after closing the door behind himself he quietly added:

"Though it indeed may be true."

Outside, Keran slowly dragged himself into sitting position, still not certain about his ability to stand upright. Was this Terys forged from metal? The young squirrel managed to keep up with him for so long only through sheer stubbornness. And the old warrior still didn't seem particularly tired!

"You look soooo pathetic," Tiani grinned, walking around the exhausted squirrel, as if she wanted to see the every detail of his sorry state. "Bring you some water?"

Keran wasn't feeling himself well enough to retort – or, in fact, to do anything but nod. So he did. He half-expected some cruel prank from Tiani, but she just walked away and soon returned with a large jug of delightfully cool water. The squirrel drank greedily, spilling much of it on his chest, then just turned the jug over above the head, showering himself.

"Thanks… That's much better…" his now fur thoroughly wet now, Keran looked comical. But, at least, he felt himself better.

"Now you look even more pathetic," informed him the grinning weaselmaid, and before he was able to think out some pungent response, added:

"Maybe now you regret leaving your home…"

"Shut up!" Keran bared his teeth in a snarl. "What do you know? I have…"

Abruptly, he cut himself off, stopping in the middle of a phrase.

"You have what? Your reasons? Bah!" Tiani punched the air with sudden fury, as if trying to hit an invisible opponent. "What, your mother was mean to you? What a nitwit!"

"No!" this time the squirrel practically yelled. Damn, this young mustelid was even more foul-mouthed than Kerya! But, however infuriating she was, she tried to help Aulbek, and she helped Keran himself right now – the young woodlander wasn't ungrateful enough to forget that. Still, it took him a few moments to calm down a bit and continue quietly.

"It is not that… not what you think, I mean…" he cast a wary glance at the direction of the house, as if fearing, that Terys or Illana may be listening. "But I have my reason. An important reason. I really do!"

Keran hesitated somewhat, then shook his head resolutely:

"But my reasons are my own. Sorry."

"_Just as I thought_," Terys, who was standing not far from the half-opened window silently nodded to himself. "_A secret. Dirty secret, I bet. What did you said to him, Kenna? Why, in the Hellgates, you gave him weapons? Really, why?_"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was early evening, when Terys decided that the time for the next lesson has come. Keran expected another torturous exercise, but instead the warrior just ordered him to pick up Tyan's old sword and come to the small glade, not far from Illana's house.

"Here you are," Terys didn't even turn to look at his apprentice, when he appeared from behind of an old tree. "I must admit, you indeed seem to have no shortage of resolve. This however, is not enough to become a warrior."

The scarred otter looked up at the sky – or was he looking at the tree crowns – but said nothing more, until Keran dared to break the silence:

"And what is enough?"

The older beast let out a silent sigh then answered dryly:

"For the beginning, you should understand what the warrior is. Do they tell such things in tales and legends here?"

"Ummm…" Keran lowered his eyes, even though Terys still wasn't looking at him. "Mother did take me to the village… a few times. I heard some of these tales there."

"Then, for a start, you should forget them."

The squirrel just stared at him, not understanding a thing.

"You see, listening to the tales and legends about the heroes of old can be very entertaining," explained the otter, and there was small but noticeable streak of bitter sarcasm in his voice when he continued. "Unfortunately for us, we are not living in a tale, and neither we are the heroes of old. In the tales, the true warrior is a good, gentle and honest beast who conquered his own fears and misdeeds. In our life… who the warrior is?"

Keran, surprised and full of uncertainty, hesitated to answer. Suddenly, otter's tail shot upward, knocking the sheathed sword of Tyan from his paws with heavy blow. Totally caught flat-footed, the squirrel lost balance and fell on his rump. Before he realized what's happening, Terys snatched the sword in mid-air, drawn it and the next second chisel-like swordpoint was right beneath squirrel's chin. Instinctively, Keran backed away, and the otter warrior did not try to follow. Instead, he withdrew the sword and raised it up so that the young beast could see its finely sharpened blade gleaming in the rays of setting sun.

"Maybe we should begin with a simpler question," calmly, as if nothing happened right now, continued Terys. "What the sword is?"

Watching him warily, Keran got back on its footpaws, and answered – this time with noticeable haste:

"Sword is a weapon? What else it can be?"

"And weapons are made for what?"

"Well… for fighting?"

"Not quite," Terys shook his head slowly. "Fangs and claws are good enough for any fight. Except the one in which you want to kill your opponent. Weapons, young Keran, are made for killing. Who is the beast, who dedicates his life to wielding weapons, then?"

The squirrel almost averted his eyes, to avoid meeting otter's unblinking gaze, but managed to gather his willpower at the last moment and stared back defiantly:

"Are you saying that warriors are just killers?"

"Well, we are not necessarily thugs or wanton murderers, if you want to hear that. But being able to take up a weapon and kill another beast with it – not in a fit of rage, but with clear head, fully realizing what you are going to do – is the very essence of being a warrior."

"But…"

"There is no "buts" there," coldly interrupted Terys, lowering Tyans' sword and sheathing it with audible click. "A warrior who is unable to kill, when necessary, resembles a dull blade: both are useless. If you cannot accept this, go back to your mother right now. I knew too many good fellows, who were slaughtered because they lacked willingness to kill, and their enemies did not."

Keran shook the clenched fist in the air: "I won't go back!.. But…"

"Then you should accept this truth. Today I said to you, that warrior's lot in life is hard, dangerous, and thankless. However, it seems that you did not take my words to heart. Thus I feel the need for a more detailed explanation. I called warrior's life hard, because killing is hard. And not only because beasts tend to fight back when you try to stick sharp metal things in them. Had you ever tried to punch someone in the face, or bite with all your strength, young Keran?"

"Well… no."

"Bad for you. Taking another's life could be very painful, unless you are used to vicious fights and blood from dibbunhood. I had seen a squirrel once, who simply collapsed in tears upon slaying a vermin brigand he fought. Then another brigand used this opportunity to crack his skull open, before I was able to get there."

Keran shuddered, imagining this picture – and realizing, that Terys' words were true.

"Of course, you can harden your heart and become inured to killing over time. But your life will not become easier after this. You see, woodlanders who can feel themselves comfortable in the company of a hardened killer, even if that killer fights on their side, even if he is good, gentle, honest and honorable to everybeast, are few and far between. Other beasts – other squirrels – will fear and detest you, because of blood on your paws. Some of them will not even be hiding these emotions. And some of them, usually those who will be seeming most likeable and understanding at the first glance, will even try to do their dirty work with your paws. This is unevitable. That's why I called warrior's life thankless."

Terys shrugged:

"As for why I called it dangerous – you had seen it for yourself. Maybe you should look again. Illana intends to sit with Aulbek and watch him this night. Go and relieve her. And think well about the truths I said – you will have whole night to think. On the morrow, come and tell me, if you still want to be warrior."

With these words, Terys flung Tyan's sword back to Keran. Though he aimed right into the squirrel's paws, Keran almost failed to catch it – so consumed by uneasy thoughts he was.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Well into the night, these thoughts still gnawed into Keran's heart. Sitting with the unconscious weasel was easy, if dull and, probably, useless task – the task that probably would have put him to sleep, if not for the heavy weight of doubt. The young squirrel suspected that Illana was doing this just for conscience' sake – after all, there hardly was any way to help Aulbek, should he stop breathing right now. The healer dormouse left him a thick wax candle, which barely produced enough light to see weasel's bandaged face clearly; and a saucer of dried apple slices to munch on.

"To Hellgates it all…" finally thought aloud Keran when the light of the candle began to dim. "He's right."

The young beast clenched teeth and his whiskers shuddered, as he remembered the promise to himself to become brave and strong, given on the night of his first and terrible meeting with real killers.

"To Hellgates… I cannot turn back, can I? If I must do this to keep my promises, I will learn how to kill, no matter how hard it is," swore the squirrel.

"…nah. Killing is easy, kid. Being killed, that's hard…" strained dry whisper reached his ears.

Unable to believe his ears, Keran turned to Aulbek's bed – to meet the unfocused glance of single pale-grey eye, that was about the only feature of weasel's face not covered by bandages. As the squirrel stated at him cluelessly, Aulbek's lips, partially hidden under the cloth, slowly moved and let out another whisper, this time much simpler:

"Water. Please."

5


	14. The Monster

14. The Monster.

Weather was dry and no clouds marred the night sky on this cold, clear night. Nearly-full moon shed its silver rays above the Northlands, fascinating some romantically minded beasts with its beauty, fueling the spring madness in others. And lighting the way for beasts, who chose this beautiful night for their dark and unsavory deeds.

Six rats, who gathered around the great moss-covered stone on the small clearing in the forest, far to the northeast from the Illana's house clearly belonged to the latter category. Tough, mean-looking beasts, covered with scars and tattoos, armed with daggers, cutlasses, and wickedly curved sabers, they obviously were searat pirates – rare guests this deep in the forest. Or, maybe, former pirates, who decided to re-qualify into landbound bandits, considering that there was no river large enough to sail upstream in a seaworthy ship anywhere nearby. Their threatening appearance alone was enough to convince most onlookers that these beasts were up to no good. But the fact, that behind them lied two young moles, securely tied, gagged and pushed into sitting positions next to the stone, marked them as kidnappers or slavers without a shadow of doubt. The rats seemed waiting for something or somebeast, babbling between themselves in hushed voices, sniggering and from time to time roaming around the clearing to warm up a little – the cold night air was biting at the rats' unprotected tails and footpaws. Only one large and burly rat, whose ears were torn by enemies' fangs, and the snout crossed by the ugly scar from the blow that once almost destroyed corsair's lower jaw, remained silent and unmoving.

"Hey, Gamun!" another rat, as big as the silent one, but younger and almost unscarred, finally got tired from waiting. "Where are these thrice-cursed, flea-ridden, dirt-diggin' scumbags? With all the damn cold, I feel meself like shit!"

"Shuddup, Greynose," answered the scarred rat in a raspy voice, and yawned loudly. "Or ye know better way to get what we need from these moles? Why, d'ye want to storm their damn tunnels? They'll come to our trap don't ye worry – they won't leave their young in our claws, aye."

Greynose cast hateful glare at the older and more experienced searat, but wisely decided not to press the issue. True, Gamun was seemingly relaxed now, but his paw still remained on the saber's hilt – the detail which Greynose did not miss. He stomped to the trees, slashing the air with his long tail and muttering under his nose:

"Fuckin' bastard… Thinks he's all that smart an' mighty… Hey, what's that?"

Last words were shouted, as the rat jumped back from something that moved in the trees' shadow. In the dark of night it was impossible discern anything except the dark silhouette, that suddenly and silently appeared among the trees as if from nowhere – and this silhouette was huge, much bigger than any mole, or searat could be!

Greynose's cry immediately alerted other searats, whose heads automatically jerked in his direction, and blades jumped out of their sheaths with almost miraculous speed. Only Gamun remained calm and didn't bother to draw his saber – after all, he had another six rats, skilled archers all, placed around the opening, as a trap. The scarred pirate was cunning and treacherous, like many of his kind, and he chose the place to wait for the ransom for the two young moles, captured by his band, with an ambush in mind, planning to take those who will bring said ransom to him as slaves. He would have preferred to meet moles' envoys during the day though, but this couldn't be helped – Gamun knew that Northlands moles rarely ventured from their dark tunnels when the sun was at the sky, and has no desire to raise their suspicions by demanding meeting at daytime.

"Whoever ye are, show up, or ye'll be sorry!"

The beast, moving towards searats, has no need of such reminders. Another few steps carried him from the shadows into the open space, illuminated by the moonlight, where he stopped. Most of the vermin breathed hidden sighs of relief, when they saw that their night guest wasn't as massive, as he appeared in the darkness. Yet, this beast was impressive: as tall as a biggest otter, but with longer paws and much wider shoulders than any otter could boast – and without noticeable tail. His built was vaguely mustelid-like, but the loose dull-grey garment and the grey cloth mask, covering his entire head, except nose, made pinpointing his species practically impossible. The masked beast looked pretty intimidating – even without the pair of swords strapped to his back with hilt above each shoulder and the heavy iron-shod staff, more suited for smashing heads than for helping to walk. Still, Gamun felt himself at relative ease, upon seeing that he has no armor. No warrior, however mighty he was, could expect to survive against six experienced searats without some protection. Never mind six hidden archers. So, the scarred rat's voice was rather arrogant, when he frowned:

"Name yerself, bucko!"

"Er… name?" the beast suddenly paused and rubbed his chin, as if the searat's order left him completely at loss.

"Aye, yer name. What are ye, deaf or thickheaded?"

"Oh…" the cloth covering the masked beast's jaws moved slightly, as if he smiled beneath the mask. The beast's voice was soft and velvety, more appropriate for a traveling minstrel that for a threatening warrior. "I assure you, I'm not… It is just that I don't really have one. And… does it matter now?"

There hardly was any wind, and the nameless beast was standing almost ten pawsteps away, so none of the rats managed to caught his scent. And noticing a few small, but really fresh bloodstains on his sleeve took some time even for Greynose, who was standing closest. And before he opened his mouth, the masked one jumped forward, and the clearing exploded in the chaotic whirlwind of violence. The heavy staff flied through the air like a javelin, and Gamun ducked to avoid it. The throw wasn't aimed at the vermin's leader, though: instead it hit the rat, who was standing closest to the mole hostages, like a thunderbolt. The hapless vermin was slain outright, his body lifted off the ground and smashed against the stone by the incredible power of this attack. Before it slumped down, the nameless beast already was among the rats. Sword, pulled from its sheath, continued its move in a wide oblique arc, before Greynose even raised his cutlass in defense, and the hapless rat fell with terrible gaping wound across face and chest. The body was still falling, when his killer rushed past him to the leftmost remained searat, trying to take out another opponent, before four remaining vermin could encircle him. Curved blades flashed in the moonlight, steel met steel with disgusting screech, and blood sprinkled the grass in wide arcs. The masked killer moved with agility, unbelievable in such massive beast, and the strength of his blows was even greater than his bulk suggested. The rats were seasoned swordbeasts, confident in their abilities and they simply did not have enough time to become scared – yet, three of them were eviscerated, in less than three seconds. One of the moles, very young female, trashed, trying to scream despite her gag when the searat's cutlass fell at her foopaws – with the searat's paw still gripping its handle. When Gamun jumped away he was the only rat left standing on the clearing – and the only wound on the masked beasts was gash across the chest.

"That doesn't hurt… at all," the searat could swear his opponent was smiling under his mask. Even without the killer's boasting Gamun realized – his wound was shallow. Blood barely began to soak the clothing around it. That was really bad. The scarred searat had seen many fierce fights and many tough fighters, and more than one of these fighters fell to his saber, but none of them had half the power of this… this monster. Yet, Gamun wasn't about to simply give up and die. An arrow can slay even the greatest warrior all the same. If only he could give his archers a few moments to aim…

"One more step and they're… aieee!" the searat tried to raise his saber over the heads of captive moles, but the nameless beasts wasn't content to let him do this. Blades met once again, as Gamun tried to parry, but though he was fast enough to met the opponent's slash with his blade, he wasn't strong enough to actually block it. The vermin fell back, clutching his snout, mutilated once again, this time mostly by the dull side of his own saber.

"Oh… that's all?" soft voice now carried mild disappointment. "By the way, your bowbeasts won't save you. I killed all five already. So…"

Suddenly the masked killer staggered forward, feathered shaft protruding from his back. Despite incapacitating pain from the wound, Gamun realized, that it is his chance. Still quick as an adder, the searat drew the long dagger that hanged from his belt with one swift motion, and lunged forward, screaming, curved blade aimed at the enemy's throat.

He didn't even notice, when and how the nameless beast caught his wrist with the free paw and twisted. But he felt it – he felt when his bones snapped like dry twigs. Before the rat opened the mouth to scream again, another paw caught his throat in the grip of steel. Maybe the nameless beast was intending to use Gamun as a shield. However, a scream and sounds of blows that reached his ears at this very moment, told him, that it is hardly necessary anymore.

"Go, feed the worms!" growled the killer. "But not too fast!"

The rat hanging with footpaws off the ground thrashed helplessly, as the ruthless fingers slowly squeezed. No matter how much Gamun, struggled, kicking and clawing with the remaining paw, the viselike grip was implacable. Strangely, the last thought that flashed through rat's brain was realization that the fingers, now crushing his neck, lack claws.

The nameless killer snorted contemptuously and cast the dead body away like a piece of trash.

"Another spineless worm… Stronger than most, though…" he looked down at the bleeding wound across his chest.

"You're wounded!" almost dozen moles, who just finished beating up the last rat archer, already poured out on the opening when the struggle was over. They rushed to untie and console mortally scared hostages, but one venerable mole ran to their mercenary immediately after verifying that they were alive.

"Seems so…" the masked beast moved his paw cautiously to feel where the arrow was, still seemingly impervious to pain.

"Seasons! Sit down, please, I'll take a look at your wound."

The massive beasts tried to shrug, but the arrow made this hard. Then he sighed, and assumed cross-legged position on the ground.

"Bad," the mole shook his head upon looking at the deeply-imbedded arrow, and looked around, trying his best not to shudder when his eyes met another mutilated corpse. He has seen his share of skirmishes and slain beasts, but they never were dismembered so savagely before. Before this night the old mole had believed that the stories of warriors beheading enemies with a single sword stroke were exaggeration… Perhaps those who called this sellsword the God of War were right, after all. Still, the mercenary did what he was paid for, and, such emotions aside, the elder felt that he should express utmost gratitude to the savior of his own relatives.

"Rootclaw, here, our warrior needs help!" then he turned again to the larger beast.

"Please, be still. We'll need to cut your clothes, don't worry, we'll make you new ones."

"As you wish… You won't like what you'll see, though," strangely, the mercenary's tone was rather amused.

"Don't you worry," firmly answered the mole. "We'll be the lower than earthworms if we won't help you now, no matter who you are. But… can you tell us your name, after all? We need to know whom to praise this night."

"Didn't I tell you already, old dirtdigger – I don't have one!" suddenly snarled the large beast, so fiercely, that the mole almost jumped back. Then he continued, in usual velvety voice. "I don't even know… ah, never mind. Once I was called Softpaw… suppose, that'll suffice for now… Better than shoddy nicknames I am given these days."

The mercenary turned his head, and when his eye glittered in the moonlight, the mole suddenly realized something. Eyes of the masked beast weren't black, as he thought previously. They were deep, dark red, almost like dried blood.

"Don't try something funny while removing this shaft... If you don't want to know why these nicknames have "butcher" or "monster" somewhere in them… Usually."

4


	15. Those who survived

15. Those who survived.

Aulbek's first awakening was short – the weasel still was extremely weak and fell into uneasy sleep soon. When he opened his unbandaged eye again, the room was filled with rays of the morning sun. The young beast tried to raise his head and look around, but the mustelid's long neck refused to move, responding to his desire only with dull pain. In fact, as Aulbek immediately realized his entire body felt like a dead weight now. He hissed a quiet curse – at least, his jaws and tongue still worked, however small comfort it was.

"You should not move," an unfamiliar voice reached weasel's ears. Some malebeast obviously was sitting close to him. "Yet. Unless you want to hurt himself."

The weasel knew better than to argue with beasts at whose complete mercy he was. Not that he had strength to argue anyway.

"Do not worry. Though woodlanders we are, as you may guess from the scent, we have no desire to harm you. Quite the opposite. By the way, want some water?"

Aulbek just nodded silently, even though his thoughts were full of curses. Being helpless again… After the otter – quite an impressive beast, as far as he could discern in this condition, helped him to drink, he asked – slowly, hesitantly:

"What… what had they done with me? Will I…"

"They had done a lot," the otter used a pause to wedge in. "You are likely to live, and you retain all important body parts, but I cannot be sure, if you ever going to walk without crutches again."

"Shit…"

"I am sorry if that is heavy news to bear. I hate deception, even if it is meant to console somebeast."

"I don't need consolations," the weasel managed to move his head a bit to glare at the unusual "nurse" with his seeing eye. "I don't need doubts, too… I'm going to recover."

"_That's quite… fiery glance,"_ pondered Terys in his thoughts, suddenly feeling unease. _"He's all broken on the outside, but on the inside… As if this body is just a tool wielded by the angry spirit within."_

The otter looked at the long dagger with bone handle, lying on the small table besides him. Clearly not the weapon of a common thug – the finely crafted blade was sharp as razor, yet the edge remained practically unsullied by small chips and nicks. And the rather… unusual owner. Terys already met beasts of similar appearance and knew, from where they come. He had no good words to say about either the place or its inhabitants.

"I want to eat, too," whispered Aulbek, cutting off his thoughts.

"I apologize. Wait just a second," the otter jumped to his paws, yet his thoughts mere much darker than his words:

"_You're as false as it gets, Terys. You says you hate deception, yet you deceive both this weaselboy and everyone else in the house. Martin help them, if you're mistaken, if this weasel is just like others of his clan… just like other Taeshmas."_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dustwing the crow soared high in the sky, the black eyes sweeping the forest panorama below. He hardly had any chance to notice a small and stealthy band of vermin covered by the canopy of trees and hoped that the disfigured weasel and his followers would not forget to set up signal smokes from time to time. The crow was tired from flying all across the Northlands and couldn't wait to rest after completing his current tasks.

His hopes come true soon enough – the sharp sight of the grey-black bird caught a large plume of smoke above the trees. Losing no time, Dustwing began to glide in its direction and quarter an hour later, he reached the large clearing, which probably had housed a few woodlanders' homes this morning – smoldering ruins that covered it now obviously wasn't bonfires. The heavy scent of charred meat was delightful to the scavenger bird, and he could bet that more than enough carrion could be found down here, yet Dustwing knew better than to simply swoop down in search of tasty bodies. There was no shortage of vermin capable of pillage and slaughter, and these ever-hungry raiders had a habit of shooting any bird within the range of their bows. For that matter, the vermin he searched for also were notoriously eager to nail anything that moves and the crow had no desire to provoke such reaction by surprising them. Only when two warrior beasts – the beasts he knew – walked out from below the trees, looking to the sky, Dustwing dared to land.

The vermin watched his approach impatiently. One of them was rather small and thin weasel with pale grey-brown fur. His appearance was unconspicuous – was unconspicous long time ago, before his left cheek was torn away, leaving horrible gaping hole through which one could see his jaws. Except for two daggers on the plain belt, he carried no weapons. Second, a hulking, muscular brute, carrying heavy halberd, towered head and shoulders above the small weasel. It was hard to tell for sure, if he was weasel or stoat – maybe because his fur was rather dirty and unkempt.

"Look, who's here…" growled the smaller vermin before the crow even landed, and his left paw twitched slightly, as he spoke. "If my father needs good news, I got nothing. Damned brat concealed his trail well, Northlands are big, we started the hunt too late."

"Old weasel knew," nodded the crow. "Old weasel had words for Raulak: "I'm certain that the wretched whelp will run south, to leave the Northlands. I change my orders: you do not need to haul him back alive. Just bring me his dagger and his hide as proofs of your success. Upturn every stone and skin every creature from here to Mossflower, if need be, but kill him. If he will have company, kill everybeast around as well.""

Even Dustwing's voice changed when he precisely repeated the words entrusted to him. And as he spoke, remaining parts of the weasel's lips stretched in a gruesome mockery of a smile.

"The old bastard's orders finally make some sense! But – why in the Hellgates he decided, that the brat will go south?!? Hey, carrion-eater, did he say something about this?"

The crow just shook his head.

"That makes sense too," voice of the larger vermin was deep, almost booming. "Many beasts can recognize one of us in the Northlands. Farther to the south – easier to hide, easier to gain trust…"

"Bah! He wouldn't just hide, he wouldn't want to! Brat or not, he's still one of us, he has our blood, our habits, our urges!" spit flied from the mangled mouth, as Raulak suddenly exploded in anger. "Revenge, that's what he wants, too!"

"…and easier to amass a horde," calmly finished his companion when Raulak's outburst was over. "How many times we talked about this already?"

The weasel looked at the massive beast maliciously, barely holding back a caustic response. Since the day when his face was mangled, Raulak had changed – for good, from the weasel's own viewpoint. Both his fighting skills and his confidence had improved by a lot. By now, he could take the obstinate brute one-on-one… or, at least, he liked to think so. But he needed help. And among their entire family, the burly younger brother who presently stared down at him was about the only beast willing to provide it. Also, despite his savage look, the giant mustelid was no fool. His opinion has merit – and now their father backed it too… Finally Raulak shrugged:

"Fine, Karrah. As you wish. We'll contact the riverrats, then. Surely, even the brat is not crazy enough to make a detour through the Noonvale… Flitchaye territories or swamps will swallow any lone traveler too. So, it should be one of the rivers."

His eyes narrowed.

"What are you waiting for, bird? Go, tell father that I'll return to him with cloak, made from Aulbek's worthless hide!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Four days and four nights had passed, as I promised. Now you are free to go," proclaimed the middle-aged female otter when her "prisoner" finally woke up at the morning. Then she bent down to untie the ropes.

"I still don't think that going after him will do any good, though," casually added she a second later.

"Shut up," wearily answered the vole. "Just shut up. As if I could catch up to him now…"

"Well, that's hardly possible," shrugged the otter. She was quite large for her species – tall, and wide-shouldered. Hale and healthy as well – perhaps only another otter, or a beast, who lived with otters for many seasons, could have been able to notice that the days of her youth were far behind. "Of course, I held you here exactly for this reason."

The vole slowly and cautiously flexed her paws, when the rope was removed. Pain seared her recently-wounded fingers, but she didn't care.

"And because of you this murderer got away," the vole's voice was dry and empty.

The otter looked at her and frowned:

"I prefer to think that it is you who got away because of me…"

"Fuck you and your words!!!" suddenly, Treysha flied off the handle. "You could kill him! You could!"

"Please," the otter remained unmoved, and turned away from the smaller female to pick up her long and thick – a bit too long and thick for a simple walking stick – wooden staff. "Calm down. I said you about thousand times already: neither I have desire to kill anybeast, nor I stood much chance against him."

"Rubbish!" the vole shook her painfully clenched fists in the air, almost ready to hit the otter in the back. "You had a plenty of chance, when you bandaged his footpaw! You tricked him already!"

"But that was no trick," the otter lifted her satchel from the ground and turned to seething Treysha again. "I bought your life from him fairly, with the condition that you will not be released until four days and nights pass, of course."

"What kind of woodlander are you to bargain with the vermin!"

"I said this about thousand times too," the older beast dusted her green-gray habit with the free paw. "I'm Melina Pondgreen from Redwall. Even though I'm no sister of the Order, I still follow its principal rules. Never harming other beasts, except in self-defense, never using our knowledge as a tool to harm or trick others, and so on."

She shook her head:

"And besides, there is a beast, very important for me, who hates deception. Not too eager about killing too."

"Bah!" Treysha spat. "Cleaning trash and vermin is not even killing! What can you know about this murderer!"

"Not much," shrugged the otter, and looked up to the sky. "He's cautious… he can keep his word sometimes… But do my words matter anything to you?"

"Shove them right back into your throat," snarled the vole. She looked around and ripped into the grass with her footpaw. "Damn ferret, he took all of my things!"

"I left some of my food for you there," the otter, already turning to leave, stopped for a moment and waved her paw in direction of a large stone nearby. "But traveling alone and unarmed is still not very… healthy. Are you still sure about giving chase?"

"Go to Hellgates! I don't need your help! Or your fucking advice!"

"Oh, well," Melina shrugged and shouldered her satchel. "Silly me, to still think that saving lives should reap some gratitude. I thought you would like to meet the beast I'm going to meet, however."

"To Hellgates with him! Terys the Swiftdeath, badgerlord or resurrected Martin the Warrior, I'll rather die alone than meet him with you!" fuming vole spat in the general direction of the older otter and stormed away from her.

"I fear, I'm a bit too old to drag tied girls around, no matter how stupid they are," mumbled Melina under her nose as she left Treysha behind. "I'm a bit too old."

4


	16. Secrets

16. The secrets.

Blade of the broadsword, which once belonged to Delgor the Scarled, hacked into a wooden log with loud crackle – and stuck in its middle. Keran almost screamed from frustration and paused to wipe sweat off his brow.

"Not good, not good at all," stated the obvious Terys, who watched the young squirrel's torments while sitting in a relaxed pose on Illana's doorsteps. "You must learn to strike sharper."

Keran growled and unsuccessfully attempted to tear already-dulled blade from the log.

"Wondering why you are just running, pushing up, lifting weights and chopping wood day after day, instead of learning secrets of the warrior's craft?"

The squirrel just grunted something incomprehensible, pulled again – with the disgusting screech, the sword finally came out.

"But remembering my conditions," the otter seemed almost disappointed. "I suppose, there is no harm in telling you. Young Keran, what, in your mind, is most important for a fighter, supposing that he has no shortage of bravery and willingness to kill his opponents?"

Terys took a small cup of herbal tea standing at his side and sipped a little, waiting for an answer. Keran pondered for a moment, afraid that there is some trick within the question, then shrugged:

"Skill?"

"And what is skill?"

The squirrel scratched his remaining ear:

"Eh… What do you mean? What's skill? I don't even know. Knowing how to move, how to strike?"

The veteran otter just smiled and brushed a small drop of tea off his whiskers, but remained silent.

"I don't even know…" repeated Keran. "But I'm sure, that there is more, than just chopping!"

"There is. But "chopping" is the cornerstone," responded Terys. He paused for a moment to let his words sink in then continued. "Beasts tend to think, that great warriors are great because they know some hidden skills, better moves or whatever. I thought so too, when I was young and lived in Redwall. I even pestered our Warrior incessantly, wanting him to teach me the secrets of swordplay. You know, what he answered to me?"

"What?"

The otter was slow to answer, and, for a moment, it looked like his eyes were seeing something invisible to others.

…The silver-grey mouse, tough-looking, despite its venerable age, transfixed the persistent otter kid with stark glare, instantly forcing him to swallow his tongue – and suddenly smiled.

"As you wish. I'll show you something. Something really important, something that not every beast can see."

He walked to the wall, lifted the sword – the legendary unbreakable sword of Martin – from its hangers and slowly unsheathed it.

"Don't move and watch closely. First!"

The great blade slashed the air on the neck's level – so fast, that it seemed to turn in a glittering silver arc.

"Second!"

Terys blinked in shock, when the chiseled swordpoint shot forward twice – so fast, that the young otter barely fixed the moments when it first stopped in a few inches from his neck, then, barely a split-second later, at the same distance of his bellybutton.

"Third!"

The elder warrior whirled, slashing upward from the right, then from the left – knee level, then just below ribs of an imagined opponent. Then he stopped, lowered the blade, and spoke with a patronizing smile:

"Now, young one, did you realize something?"

Terys looked at him, eyes so wide, as if he saw the gatekeeper of the Dark Forest:

"That was four fatal wounds… and a lost footpaw."

Warrior's smile disappeared without a trace.

"So, you did realize… Exactly. And that's where the real glory and power of Redwall warriors lies. Slicing loafs without touching the table, or shaving whiskers off somebeast's snout are just entertainer's tricks or exercises to train one's swordpaws. All you need to become a great warrior is the moves I had shown you – and diligent practice to perform them with necessary strength and speed…

"And he was right," finished Terys his short story. "Those and a few other simple moves were all I ever needed on the battlefield. I do not really have any secrets. You do not need to know much in order to defeat and slay me. But so far, I was never defeated in mortal combat, neither I was slain – I am quite alive, as you can see. You know why, young Keran? Because I was very diligent and practiced a lot. Because I built up my muscles and honed my reflexes sufficiently, because I was able to perform these simple chops and stabs faster and with greater strength than my opponents. So should you. That's the first reason for you to chop thick wooden logs with thin broadsword."

"And the second reason?" Keran sounded not too enthusiastic.

"We can repay Illana's hospitality, by, at least, providing her with chopped-up wood to fuel the stove for the next winter or three," shrugged the otter. Then he heard suppressed giggle from the right.

"Woke up already, Tiani?"

"You guess. Hear everything, eh?" the weasel leaned out of the nearest window.

"You hardly even tried to be sneaky. I should have been deaf not to hear you. Keran, you may stop resting and continue chopping."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Thistlegrowth was a badly built, shoddy hamlet, inhabited by riverrats and assorted vermin. The "Lost Claw" was a badly maintained, badly smelling inn. The dirty wooden table at which Wenelt the Sawteeth sat was badly whittled – as for the food, it was bad, too. No wonder that the ferret was in a bad mood. Frowning, he poked contents of the dish before him with a wooden spoon. The fish looked and smelled as if it had died from old age.

"Just my rotten luck," sighed the mercenary. But at least, he was alive and healthy. Almost two weeks had passed since he left the troublesome vole behind. His burned footpaw was practically all right now – the strange otter really was a good healer. The ferret felt he was right when decided to make a deal, instead of fighting her. Sure, there likely was a revenge-crazy vole on his trail now, but battling a large, healthy beast, when you cannot help but limp…

A drunken riverrat interrupted Wenelt's thoughts by almost falling on his table. The ferret looked up indifferently, having no desire to either show a weakness or actively pick a fight. His left paw "accidentally" slid below the table, to the dagger's handle, just in case. Some instinct or sixth sense probably told the drunk that messing with large ferret before him is a capitally bad idea, so the rat muttered something resembling an excuse and stumbled off, trying not to crush into the nearest wall or another plan.

"Stinking ant food," grumbled Wenelt quietly and turned his eyes to the dish again. One way or another he need to find a job, suited for his talents. Procuring food for himself was no problem, except in overpopulated settlements like Thistlegrowth, yet the mercenary craved something more valuable – gold, silver, gems, and other treasures. But, though the bustling hamlet was a hotbed of rumors and a meeting place for beasts of ill reputation, so far Wenelt found nothing tempting. Sure, there was fighting again of the northern coast and petty warlords tested each other here and there – but the mercenary has no desire to become involved in endless, profitless feuds or spend his better seasons fighting minor and equally profitless skirmishes…

Some beast in a long cape with a cowl stepped to the ferret's table, interrupting his thoughts once again.

"Go away," Wenelt didn't bother to raise his eyes this time.

"You're careless," the voice was hoarse, almost crackling, but still recognizably feminine. "Do you want a few new holes, not looking around like this?"

"I smelled ye through all that stench. And ye're way too cowardly for simply comin' and stabbin' poor me. Now, go away."

"Now, aren't we mean to old friends?" the female ferret ignored his wish. Instead, she pushed a nearby stool closer, and sat down, elbows on the table and chin resting on the intertwined fingers.

"Ye're nobeast's friend, Brokeface," Wenelt finally stopped examining his unwholesome dinner and their eyes met. The mercenary's old acquaintance was about the same age as him, and her eyes were of the same golden-brown color. That's where their similarities ended. Neither female's height and stature, nor her dark brown fur were outstanding. Once she probably was cute, if not strikingly beautiful, but after some beast tried beating her to death with a stone or a club, it was hard to tell. Remaining scars weren't downright horrifying, but still severe enough to be the most memorable feature of her face. "What in the Hellgates do you need from me?"

"Hmmm, why such gloom? Still cannot forgive me for our last little adventure with otters?"

"Little adventure?!?" Wenelt slammed his fist into the table. "Ye promised clean, quiet theft, lass, and delivered bloody massacre! Now the entire clan, whatever remains of it, wants to see my head on a pike, 'cause ye messed things up!"

"Oh," the smaller mustelid smiled innocently. "How many times I have to say, that I'm awfully sorry? Well, maybe a small gift can improve your attitude?"

Brokeface's paw slipped under the cloak, then appeared again, with something in it. Slowly, she put the paw on the table and opened the palm, to demonstrate, what was in it. Wenelt gasped.

"Surely, this is joke?" words came out of his mouth in a stifled whisper.

"No," the female ferret smiled again – and this time the smile was wide enough to stretch some of the scars on her face, making it frightening. She lightly tapped the thick silver ring in her paw with one of her claws. "This is a gift. Or – if you want – an advance."

"For what?" Wenelt's paw, already stretched to take the small treasure, visibly shook, when he stopped in two inches from the female's palm, as greed and caution struggled desperately in his mind.

"Hey, don't look at me so funny. Just take it," she shoved the ring in his paw, still smiling. "I'll not be feeling safe otherwise. Don't worry, you don't need to do anything, if you don't want to take a job. But if you do… Guys who provided me with this trinket have more, alot more. And they're in need of tough beast-cutters, like you."

Wenelt didn't need a second invitation. The silver ring disappeared in an instant.

"Who's hiring?" his voice still was barely above a whisper.

"You'll be surprised."

The rest of the answer was even quieter – the female even leaned forward when she said it.

"Ye're joking, right?" judging by his voice, Wenelt was surprised indeed.

"Hey, you!" rude voice interrupted their conversation at the most interesting moment. Two ferrets turned in unison to see a trio of rough-looking beasts moving to their table. Judging by the direction of thugs' glances, their small exchange wasn't as unconspicous as Scarface hoped.

"Tis' an interes…" leader of the trio – large, sinewy stoat, brandishing short but heavy club just began to speak, when Wenelt began to act. In other circumstances, the ferret wasn't too eager to fight smalltime bullies and muggers – they usually had nothing to take from, after all. But now he just has no patience for greedy idiots. With one mighty push, the mercenary overturned the massive table, launching it at the trio. The stoat screamed when the edge of the tableplate fell directly on his bare footpaw. One of his companions, a ragged rat, managed to jump back, avoiding being stunned with the table. He didn't avoid a long dagger, which the ferret threw next. Wenelt's aim wasn't very good, though, so the blade struck the rat's shoulder, instead of throat. In the next moment, heavy wooden stool, picked up by the mercenary, met the shocked stoat's head. The sturdy piece of furniture broke apart with loud crack – and the stoat fell as if struck down by a thunderbolt. The last thug, a dirty, mangy weasel was already falling with the Brokeface's dagger protruding from the side of his neck, when Wenelt turned attention to him. Seeing this, the remaining rat screamed and turned to run, but the large mustelid was too fast. Wenelt was upon him instantly, breaking rat's neck with one savage twist. The entire fight was over in a blink of an eye. With sickening sound, the ferret tore his dagger from the rat's shoulder, allowing the body to fall, and looked around. The barkeep and the surviving clients of the "Lost Claw" tried to seem as small and innocent as possible, too scared to move or to raise their eyes. The heavy scent of fear permeated the foul air. Yet the mercenary was smart enough to realize – the fear is going to be replaced with rage or, even worse, greed-laden suspicions. Very soon. Brawls and muggings were common here, but ruthless slaughter… Even in Thistlegrowth such things were viewed rather dimly – at least when locals were the victims and outsiders the killers.

"Come on," spat Wenelt in Brokeface's direction. "Let's chat on our way."

5


End file.
